


Sepia

by HappyDagger



Series: Sepia [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Prison, Asphyxiation, Claiming, Controlling Behavior, Corrupt Gaurds, Daddy Kink, Flashbacks, Forced Bonding, Forced Orgasm, Gangs, Hate Speech, Heroin, Humiliation, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Jealousy, Loss of Control, M/M, Marking, Master/Pet, Master/Slave, Nazis, Non-Consensual, Non-Linear Narrative, Obsessive Behavior, Ownership, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sex, Praise Kink, Prison Gang, Prison Sex, Private Prison, Public Claiming, Public Humiliation, Racism, Ramsay is his own warning, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sadism, Tattoos, Theon you ignorant slut, en media res, hate groups, the Starks are magically not related
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 23:23:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 22
Words: 31,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7195238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappyDagger/pseuds/HappyDagger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Theon gets a prison tattoo.</p><p>This work started as a 3 chapter request fill but festered in my mind and grew. </p><p>Part 1: Shallow Waters, or Guess Who's Coming to Prison?<br/>Part 2: Flesh and Steel, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Blade </p><p> </p><p>Every comment is a hug for Theon. Each kudos makes Ramsay smile. </p><p>That's just the rule for thramsay fics, if anyone didn't know already. I mean, do what you want, I can't make you care about these characters and their happiness. It just seems like something a nice, thoughtful, intelligent person would do and I always saw you that way.</p><p>You're not going to let me down?</p><p>Are you?</p><p>FOR MORE MANIPULATION LIKE THAT; READ THIS FIC! YAY! :D</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dazzling Lights

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WitchesBrew](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WitchesBrew/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part I: Shallow Waters

"All in."

"Fuck you, Greyjoy."

Theon laughed. "What? I need to fucking smoke! Come on, you in or not, bitch?" He slid all his quarters across the table, into the pot. 

"Fuck you!" Baratheon repeated, sneering with all his weasely little face. "I fold, you twat! You're probably cheating, goddamned THIEF!" His small shaking fist slammed the little grey table.

" _Seven hells_ this half-abortion has a high-pitched voice," Clegane rumbled. "I fold. If you are cheating, I'll break you in two, Greyjoy."

"I'm not cheating!" he laughed. "I'm just good, fucking deal with it." He watched Martell walk by and got a smile and wink this time.

Baratheon leaned in closer. "Even _you_ shouldn't fuck that, Greyjoy." 

"Too late, I'd bet," Seaworth murmured, across from them, sitting with the other unallied old men.

"Keeping tabs, daddy?" Theon winked and scanned the room, again. He giggled to himself when Seaworth raised an eyebrow and coughed uncomfortably into the Sunday paper. 

Clegane stretched and rubbed his eyes. "I hate these fucking piss yellow buzzing lights. You have more of that shit, Greyjoy?"

"I do for you, buddy." Theon's smile faded when someone came quickly pounding down the stairwell. "Damn, I gotta go. In or out, Blackwater?"

"You'd fuck anything wouldn't you, fucking race traitor?" Baratheon fumed quietly.

"If I could only be as beautifully inbreed as you, you immaculate stillborn," Theon lamented dramatically. 

"I am a BLUE BLOOD!" Though he was well-connected with the Aryans and prison owners, it was still inconceivable that Joff hadn't been beaten to death yet.

"Bronn, fucking _in or out?!_ Baratheon, do you know that you always look like The Little Penis That Couldn't?"

Joff turned more and more red and silently shook harder.

"Yeah, just like that. The bowl cut doesn't help."

"Ha!" Clegane slapped the table then stood, leaving them. "That is true, that."

"Wait, don't leave. Clegane! I have to get your-" He gave up when the scar-faced giant made an obscene gesture in his general direction and watched him enter the safety of their cell. "Blackwater, god damn it! You fucking piece of shit gunrunning asshole! Pull the Lannister cocks out of your ears and fucking listen. Call, motherfucker!" Theon glanced over his shoulder.  _Shit._ He definitely saw Theon.

"And why should I?" The smarmy fucking twat answered at his happy leisure. "I have to rush an important decision just because your friend got out of solitary? Fine. I fold."

Theon smiled sarcastically and glanced over his shoulder again. He was definitely coming over here.  _Fuck!_ Theon rushed to gather his quarters and cigarettes.

"What _did_ you have?" Bronn stole his cards before Theon could stop him. "Ah! You damn bullshitter!"

Theon grinned. "What? That isn't good?"

Baratheon's eyes widened then narrowed. He jumped up and swept the cards off the table with an angry swat. "YOU _LIAR_! YOU MADE ME LOOK LIKE AN IDIOT!"

Theon and Bronn looked at each other with the same amusement. "I didn't need to. Fuck! He's going to erupt!" 

"Or ooze," Bronn speculated then pushed the metal looped legs of his plastic chair against the painted cement to get a little further away. 

 _"Hello, Theon."_  

He tried to pass the shudder crawling under his skin as a twitch. "Bolton."

Ramsay grabbed Theon's wrist and twisted it until all the quarters and cigarettes dropped into Ramsay's waiting hand. Skinner and Sour Alyn were both right behind Bolton, as always.

"Ah," broke through Theon's mouth. He grimaced as Ramsay kept twisting. "Common, man. What the fuck?" he weakly protested, following the pain down until he was pressed next to his curled wrist on the table.

Baratheon giggled.

"Is that how you say 'hi' to me?" 

"Go on." Bronn's chair scratched against the hard floor when he stood. "Fuck off, boys."

Alyn stepped forward with the grin he seemed to reserve only for violence.

"Hey, that's enough of that shit." Clegane miraculously reappeared from their cell. 

Behind Theon's bent back, Ramsay smiled serenely. "You're right. Wouldn't want to upset the little killer here." He traced Theon's back with one sensuous stroke, then a second. "Sleep tight, Theon." He released Theon and walked away with all his winnings.

Theon got up, frowning and rubbed his wrist. "Thanks, man. I don't know why the fuck he hates me so much."

Bronn plopped back down with a squeamish expression. "Not sure if that's what it is exactly. Now! How about a thank you?" Bronn stuck his hand out. "You did see that mute janitor this morning, right? Have some nightshade for me?"

"Yeah. Yeah, man. In fifteen, ok?" Theon mumbled.

He shoved his hands in his hoodie pockets and walked off alone.

 


	2. Blue Black Cloud

_"They're here!"_

"What? Who is?" His leaden body refused to move, even as his heart was racing. 

"RUN!" His sister pulled at his arm, grunting. Her hair was a sweaty rats nest. She was wearing those purple ninja turtle pajamas he could always see so clearly. Everything else was black but he could hear the gun shots. Even her face was a blurry recollection, but Donatello's white eyes, angled to frown, were perfectly clear. "Run!" she begged him, hoarsely screaming. 

This was a dream where his inability to move kept going on forever. He knew it was a dream, but he couldn't tell himself it wasn't real and he couldn't forgive or save anyone this time either.

"RUN, THEON!  _THEY'RE HERE!"_

 

He woke up sweating in his cell. That was a welcome surprise. Sometimes the nightmares could take years, but then he wasn't sure he'd woken up after all. 

"Get up, boy. They've come for you."

"Who?" He couldn't make out the faces of the guards. "Is it... the chair?"

"Someone must have fucked your brains out, Greyjoy. Wake up, you worthless idiot!" Clegane stood in front of him when they entered anyway. "Bed check, fellas?" he asked cordially.

"Solitary for you, Clegane."

The looming killer tilted his head and growled, _"What?"_

 _"_ Dr. Stark told us everything." The fucking asshole didn't bother to hide the laughter behind his 'accusation'. "Some giant attacked her. Now," he leaned back to ask his snorting, snickering friends, "what giant prick do we know with a thing for that delicious redhead? Let's go." FuckingTrant. Theon knew the voice now.

 _"Bastards_."

"Wait, I was with him all day-"

"Shut the fuck up, Greyjoy," a heavier one said sadly.

Why sadly? Who died now?  _Asha..._ Theon sat at the edge of his bed and rubbed his face then reached for his pants.

"Don't move!" Officer Trant barked.

 

It seemed so fast. Clegane was gone and more people had filed in. Theon looked up to find Skinner taking one if his arms and Sour Alyn the other. 

"What the fuck?" Everything hit him at once, as much as he didn't want to see it. "No, no, _no_. Wait!"

"New cell, Greyjoy!" Officer Trant called down the hall. "Don't worry! We'll send your things over in trash bags!"

Some of the guards laughed, but all the dark cells were silent. Whenever he caught a glimpse in one, people looked away or had their back turned. When the prison itself was involved, it was harder to watch a prisoner get dragged to hell. 

"Fuck, oh fuck! _Don't!_ Please don't!"

A new, jaundiced, freak waved to Theon as he brought a box of his shit into Theon's cell. 

"Don't! DON'T LET THEM!" He screamed at the guards, at Clegane, at anyone. _"PLEASE!"_

Skinner pulled Theon up to punch him but Alyn grabbed his fist. "Nah. Ramsay wants to break him in."

 _"Fuck,"_   Theon wept and kept weeping.

Sour Alyn took the slim thing over his wide shoulder and carried him upstairs. 

 

Theon was lowered to the floor instead of thrown. He didn't break a rib or twist an ankle but still couldn't manage to move or look up.

 _"Hello, Theon,"_ Ramsay purred. His quick, heavy steps came slowly closer. Ramsay's door rumbled then slammed shut with an ominous clunk. "Aw, cheer up. Hey, I decided to give you the top bunk!"

Theon's limbs wound around him tightly as he trembled, sniffing and gulping air on the cold hard floor. "Wha-what... what do you-"

"Shh." Ramsay knelt to caress his wet face. 

Theon whined and ducked away from the touch. He whispered, "Please, don't..." 

Ramsay grabbed a fistful of hair from Theon's crown and used it to make his new toy face him. "You aren't really going to try to fight me, are you?" he hummed sweetly. "You liked me before."

Theon tried to shake his caught head. His eyes darted briefly to an enormous young blond with an eerily friendly grin, standing in the corner. 

"You like being protected by stronger people. You don't want to deal or whore anymore. It's a great night for you!" Ramsay released him and stood with a clap of his hands. "I have a simple way to fix everything. I usually do." He motioned at his boys. "Come on, get him up."

Theon was pulled to his feet.  He didn't even have his fucking flip flops. 

Ramsay ran two fingers inside his boxers' elastic waistband. "Do you like my tattoo, Theon?" Ramsay caressed the crimson and rust colored X on his shoulder. It looked like dried blood he could never wash away.  Ramsay yanked the boxers past Theon's ass and let them drop. "On the bed."

Theon whimpered and choked. His living corpse was moved, face down onto the bed. "Please,  _please, please._ What do you want? I'll sell to you again! Ok? I'll cut you in!" he cried. "PLEASE!"

"Shh, you're fine, sweet boy. Damon, get his legs. Alyn, take his left arm."

Theon jumped up somehow, for just an instant, then his nose hit the hard mattress when he fell back down. His ankles were trapped and squeezed painfully when he kicked out. "WAIT! I'll do it! PLEASE! Just tell me what you want!"

"But I have it." Ramsay took Theon's right wrist and held his hand. 

"WHY?" Theon wailed in his own ears. His voice was cracking under a lifetime of pain. "Why me? What did I ever do to you?!"

"Shh." Ramsay leaned so close that his warm breath was on Theon's neck. _"I'll tell you when they leave,"_ he promised in a sacred whisper.

He heard buzzing and, in his panic, Theon thought it he'd been electrocuted.

"Stay still," Skinner grumbled behind him. A gloved hand touched the small of his back. 

Theon's eyes bulged as he screamed 'no' like he was being sliced open. "Oh god!" he gasped sharply then screamed again. 


	3. Blanch

Theon's wailing echoed throughout the block. He knew, but he couldn't keep his anguish from escaping. It would be easier to free his legs from the gargantuan Hitler youth poster holding them. _That's it._ Theon's screwed shut eyes popped open. "WAIT! You can't! I'm a dirt person!"

Ramsay pursed his mouth to one side and snorted but the buzzing and vibrating cuts stopped for a moment.  

"What?"  Skinner said coldly.

"I'm Catholic! So I'm a... you know...  an inferior pagan." Theon looked up slowly. "You don't want to taint your pristine recessive genes by touching me, right?"

Ramsay smiled patiently. "The Klan hates Catholics. Do I look like a Grand fucking Wizard to you?"

The buzzing started again.

"NO WAIT! My grandfather was Romanichal! He grew up in a caravan and everything!"

Skinner pulled away from Theon's flesh, looking uneasy. "What the hell is a Rom- that?"

Ramsay rolled his eyes. "Can't you see that he's lying, dipshit? He isn't even a _good_ liar!" Ramsay's smile darkened into a frown. "Well? Did I tell you to stop, Skinner?"

Theon inhaled sharply. "Wait, please! We can work something out!"

Skinner rolled forward to stab him with the hornets' nest again. "What else did you want, Ramsay?"

Ramsay ran his fingers through Theon's mess of hair. "My name."

Theon's head collapsed, smacking against the hard mattress. "I was nice to you. I helped you," he whispered into the bed. His mouth was wet with drool and tears. Skinner went back to working in between Theon's shoulders. Sometimes he only felt the vibration, sometimes it felt like a razor, most of the time it felt like scratches with intermittent shocks. "Please be a dream. Please be a dream," he kept whispering.

Ramsay kept hold of Theon's wrist and took his hand again. "I didn't forget," he said, so softly that Theon wasn't certain those were the even words he'd heard.

 

"'Kay." Skinner rolled back on a chair borrowed from the nurse's office and itched his nose with his forearm. "Take a look. Alyn, give me some gum."

Ramsay stood up and gave Theon's head a little pat. "It's great. You're fast, man. That's beautiful." As Skinner looked Ramsay in his translucent steel eyes, Ramsay put a firm hand on his shoulder. "Thank you. It's perfect."

Alyn leaned back before he tossed Skinner a stick of gum and took one for himself. Damon stood and squeezed his friends with one python arm. "I don't know how you did it, but thanks, Ramsay! I'm glad to see you ugly fuckers again, you know?"

Skinner sat next to Theon's shuddering body and taped cellophane to his new tattoo. "This isn't some pen ink and razor blade shit. It won't get infected, blow out or fade away. You're a lucky little bitch, you know that?"

Theon kept trying to hide his face in his arms.

Ramsay walked to the foot of the bunk bed. "Say thank you."

Alyn snorted and Damon giggled.

"Theon," Ramsay said, so patiently, "do you know what they are? Did you try to guess? Draw it in your mind from the pain? Or did you figure it out? You haven't been in prison that long, never in a gang."

"I thought he was a Greyjoy?"

"Well," Ramsay laughed, raising his hands, "where's his Kraken tattoo then? He's fucking naked, Damon. Do you see it?"

Damon looked the slim boy over. "No."

"What do you see?"

Damon smiled. "A red St. Andrew's Cross, with a pink teardrop, dollar sign, and skull underneath."

Theon struggled, twisting uselessly to peer over his shoulder. "What? What is it? Why? What does it mean?"

Ramsay's chest warmed and swelled as he inhaled deeply. Theon was naked on his hands and knees in Ramsay's bed panicking when he looked up with enormous teary eyes. Marked, trapped, helpless, and Ramsay's. _Only Ramsay's._

"Where do you want your name?" Skinner popped off his red stained gloves and tossed them in Ramsay's little waste bucket. He stretched and washed his hands.

"Just hold on." Ramsay took Skinner's tube of Aquaphor and pulled his leaking dick out of his orange pants.

Alyn grunted and rolled his head back. "Fu- really?" He tried to push past Damon who enjoyed blocking the tight path to the rolling cell door.

Skinner sat on the metal sink and shoved his hand into his pants. "Give me one of his smokes before I go, ok?"

"They're mine now." Ramsay climbed over Theon and caught his waist when he tried to fly away. "Shhh, easy. Easy. I have you. You're not going anywhere."

Theon's hyperventilating broke back down into heavy sobs.

"Good boy," Ramsay encouraged gently. He began to coax Theon open with his fingers as he explained, "This," Ramsay kissed the plastic covered X, "means you belong to me. This teardrop means you're my favorite pet, my little toy, my slave. It's pink because you're mine _exclusively_. The skull and crossbones mean I will kill anyone who takes or touches my property. The dollar sign means I'll give a reward for protecting you or bringing you back." Ramsay kissed across Theon's shoulders and licked up his neck. "You may be worried that you're getting out in two years and won't be out for five. Don't panic, sweetheart. The tattoos work on the street as well as they do here and I'm adjusting my sentence."

Theon gasped when he removed three fingers and cried out when Ramsay entered him.

Ramsay's head twisted in ecstasy toward his shoulder as he bit his lip. "Fu-uck," he laughed to himself, stammering. "Oh, gods!" He bent down with a slack grin and wrapped his arms around Theon's shaking ribs.

"Fuck him already!" Damon exploded.  

Little screams began to erupt from Theon every time he tried to exhale.

"I can't!" Ramsay laughed. "I'm gonna come if I move! Alyn! Let me look at your miserable face so I don't splooge like a fucking fifteen-year-old!" He rubbed his cheek into Theon's hair and moaned. "It's too good. He's mine. Oh, gods, he's so scared."

"Uh huh," Damon let Alyn storm past now and licked his soft lips. "What, what does he feel like?"

Ramsay started thrusting slowly, building speed with each thrust. "So trapped. So helpless. So tight that it hurts. He's like shaking and vibrating, his heart is fluttering against my arms." Ramsay's head rolled back as he peered down, intoxicated. "You're not Prince slut anymore. You're not running shit. You're not pulling strings, or laughing with strangers and **ignoring me**. You're never running again, not from me, never again. You're mine."

"Ah!" Theon cried. "Ramsay, please..."

Ramsay groaned and came inside him. "Shit!"

Skinner threw a crushed paper towel away. "Well..." he swallowed and sighed. "Where do you want your name?"

Damon kept staring and licking his lips.

Ramsay kissed Theon's tears. He pulled out and patted Theon's ass. "Right here."


	4. Camoflage

By the soft yellow light block lights filtering in through the bars, Ramsay enjoyed investigating every inch of his new toy. Theon lied pliable and silent; a warm doll, staring at the metal slab above them. Ramsay lifted his forearm and traced a finger up the center until he reached Theon's exquisitely thin wrist.

Theon only stared. Was he even blinking?

Time oozed by like mucus. "You asked me something," Ramsay said softly. "Look at me."

Theon's chest compressed with a twitch. His pupils stammered reluctantly over to meet the ice cold eyes staring down upon him. "Why?"

"That's right," Ramsay soothed. "You asked me why and what did you ever do to me?"

Theon's heavy tongue lay still in his dry mouth.

"Do you remember when we met?" Ramsay ran his fingers through Theon's hair and slowly dropped his fine wrist. He then ran a hand between Theon's thighs and squeezed his balls roughly before Theon could twist away. "You're not looking at me."

When did they meet? How did this happen?

 

***

 

_“Rise and shine, gentlemen. Let’s go!”_

 

“God damn it. The day you kick my head jumping around like that is the day I slam yours into the wall, Greyjoy,” the Hound growled rolling off his bunk.

Theon smirked and ran out once the door rolled open.

 

“Hey.”

A rider looked up from his tray and puffed out his chest. “Keep moving, Greyjoy.”

Drogo raised his hand to silence his boy.

Theon bent low, ostensibly to steal a slice of toast from his new friend.

Drogo gave a quick nod. “Anything else?”

“The Pagans are selling harder stuff, chief. My supply ran dry.” Theon slipped away and headed to Martell’s table.

  


“Get up! Where have you been all day?”

“Ugh. Go away.”

“Hey! You wanna box me? It will make you feel better. I’ll go real easy on you.”

Loras rolled over and opened one dark blue eye. “Who are you again?”

“Theon! Greyjoy. Hang out. Come on.”

“Oh.” Loras sat up slowly. He pushed and squeezed his thick curls out of his face. “Boxing? Yeah. That’s cool. I’m not buying whatever you’re selling, though.”

“No, I know.” Theon looked at his bare feet and wiggled his toes. Were they nice for toes? What do sexy toes even look like?

“You’re sitting on my bed.”

“Yeah.” Theon grinned. “Not buying anything, huh?”

Loras snorted and pushed Theon off his cot.

 

_“Lights out, ladies!”_

 

“Who’d you smart off to now, Greyjoy?” Sandor slurred from their toilet. “When you getting me more porn?!”

“Right away, buddy. It’s my new friend. We were boxing. He was, uh, way better than I thought he’d be.” Theon smiled.

Sandor frowned and tossed the magazine away. “Mm, right.” He stood with a grunt.     

Theon rolled over and shut his slightly swollen eye.

Their toilet flushed then Clegane’s low voice was at his neck. “Common, Greyjoy. I’ll share the whiskey you brought me.”

“No thanks,” he attempted weakly and stared at the jolly roger he had carved into the cement block in front of him.

“Get down from there. Be quick about it.”

The little scratchy skull smiled at Theon. He smiled sadly back. “Alright. Gimme the whiskey first.”

 

It didn’t happen that often. Just when Clegane was drunk sometimes. Usually, he’d jerk off and pass out then protect Theon when the next day started all over again.

It’s not like it hurt or anything. More than once Clegane had grabbed Theon when he wasn’t ready or in a way he didn’t like and they would fight. Only the “fight” was pretty one-sided. Still, they didn’t last long and Theon never had to see the nurse or anything. It wasn’t a big deal, really.

It was just so fucking gross.

They both kept their pants and boxers on, but Clegane was so fucking big, Theon was becoming claustrophobic.

It wasn’t traumatic or really a big deal. Clegane didn’t sweat too much or smell as bad as Theon thought he would, but the smell and sweat would still be all over Theon’s back and hair and in his nose until he could shower in the morning so he had to sleep that way, over his sheets in the hope that they wouldn’t smell until they could be cleaned. If they even would really be clean again… if they ever were clean.

 

_“Rise and shine, inmates! Move it!”_

 

Theon jumped down waited for the door to open. Clegane stayed a comfortable distance away from him. He might feel bad today, which would be great. New transfers were coming today and, apparently, Theon’s handsome face was real fucking punchable.

 

He got another demerit for running when the door rolled open.

 

At breakfast, he brought the Wildlings their smokes. Mance said they’d pay him back later, which was fine. He needed favors more than money.

 

In the yard, Loras asked if he was up for another round.

“How about basketball?” Theon grinned.

Loras eyed the crumbling court and found Dothraki swarming around it. “I don’t want to pick a fight with the _whole_ hoard.”

“Nah, they’re cool. Drogo’s my friend. Let’s go!” Theon jogged over to grab a ball and, just as he said, the Dothraki let him through.

He waved Loras over.

“Wow, I thought you were lying.”

“Now way!” Theon laughed. “It’s pretty much my cell block.”

“Really?”

Theon made a basket and bounced the ball to his new best friend. “Yeah, man! Everyone likes me! You have a nice smile, Tyrell.” Theon’s eyebrows bounced suggestively.

“I am not fucking you, Greyjoy.” Loras was still smiling, though, so it wasn’t an _absolute_ no.

“Hey, sweetie!” Another pretty blond called from a picnic table. His friends snickered around him.

Loras glanced over his shoulder then took a shot, which hit the rim. The ball hit a crack in the grey asphalt and rolled away.

Theon jogged after it and made another basket. “I’m on R, motherfucker. Catch up!”

“You really do have friends everywhere, huh? I guess you’re the guy to know.”

“Fuck yes, I am. But that’s just Satin.”

Loras frowned slightly. “I know Satin.”

“Well, he’s an asshole.”

Loras laughed and made a basket at last. “What? No, he isn’t.”

“Oh, my god! No, man, listen! He fucking blew me the other day and asked me to fucking PAY for it afterward! Cuntbag,” Theon grumbled and missed. “Shit.”

“Well… he’s a sex worker, so…”

“Yeah, but _he_ hit on ME!”

“Right. Again, he _is_ a prostitute. He’s just trying to hustle. You wouldn’t want to be in his place.”

Theon scoffed and threw his hands up. “I don’t fucking pay for sex! LOOK AT ME!”

“So what did you do?” Loras shot went over circled the rim and teetered until it fell out. “Damn.”

“I told his ass to _pay me_!”

“What?!” Loras burst out laughing. He hadn’t in so long he was surprised he still could.

“Hey! People have paid to suck my cock before, Tyrell! Listen, you haven’t seen it. I’ll show you when-”

“No! No!” Loras laughed.

Theon’s hurt and anger dissolved. Maybe it was kind of stupid.

“I believe you. Gods! Your balls must be huge if you-” but he couldn’t finish from laughing and swept thick springy curls off his forehead before shoving Theon’s shoulder. “This is boring. Let’s box again.”

“You just want to stop because you’re losing.”

“Nooo. I just remembered new transfers are coming in. I’m going to go take a look.”

“Nice fucking excuse, buddy.” Theon frowned when Loras waved and headed back inside.

“Loras! My balls _are_ big! They have to be to match my cock!”

“What?” Blackwater lifted his head off the bench he’d been sleeping on. “Who’s fighting?”

“Nothing,” Seaworth replied dryly. “Just Greyjoy yelling about his dick again.”

“Ugh. Tell me when someone needs a shiv.”

Seaworth went back to his letter. A folded crayon drawing fell out and he smiled.

 

“Theon?”

“Huh?”

Father Tarley smiled and leaned forward. “We’re talking about guilt, remember?”

“Right.” He swirled the piss poor excuse for coffee left in his styrofoam cup and stabbed the floating grounds with his red stirrer.

“Well?” Father Tarley looked around the circle hopeful of finding some support. “Would you care to share? Do you think guilt has contributed to your addictions?”

“I don’t think I’m really _addicted_.”

“Theon…” Tarley had this way of looking so patiently disappointed. It made Theon want to backhand his friendly face and make him proud at the same time.

He rolled his head back and sighed at the stained drop ceiling. A big square above him was missing. It had probably felt like the cup in his hand and suffered one drop of rust water after another until it was too filthy for anyone to bare. “Well… yeah. Sure. I feel guilty but I never made anyone do anything. It was their choice.”

“Whose choice?”

“Those kids… brothers.”

“Theon, I feel like you’re not giving group your full attention. I know it’s a difficult-”

Theon loved staring out Father Tarley’s office window. “I feel bad for my family. I know they miss me. They depend on me. I feel bad for my hometown and shit.”

“You mean for being in jail?” Tarley pressed. “What about the actions that got you here?”

“I feel bad for all the women I fucked.”

Everyone leaned in a little more now.

Tarley was obviously trying not to take the bait, but he licked his little mouth and stammered, “Wha- why?”

Theon grinned. “I just ruined sex for them for the next two years.”

Lucky Jack scoffed and laughed.

“And the last two.”

“Alright, settle down, lads.” Father Tarley cleared his throat and reluctantly forced himself to move the conversation along.

Theon stared out the window until a guard came to escort him to dinner.


	5. Suckers

Theon slid a baggie out of his pocket and raised his eyebrows at Martell, The Viper, they called him. _Notice me now?_

“I don’t do that shit, Greyjoy. You shouldn’t either.”

Theon shrugged. “What _do_ you do?”

“Eat for one. Aren’t you going to?”

Theon sniffed and casually rubbed under his nose to see if it was bleeding again. “Nah. Hey, if you ever want _anything,_ come find me.”

“Stop selling to my boys, Greyjoy.” Martell’s expression was clear enough. He took his tray to the Sunspear table.

“Hey!” Theon chased after him. “What do I get?”

Martell glanced over his shoulder and smirked.

“If I stop selling to them. Huh? Negotiate with me, Martell!” Theon grinned then turned and looked for a new client or group of clients. _New meat, new opportunity._ He fixed his hair and strolled through the chow hall.

 

“Greyjoy!” Styr slammed his fist into the table, shaking it.

Theon forced a smile and slid over beside him. “What’s up, captain?”

“Who’s dealing H?”

 _Shit._ Theon knelt and lowered his voice. “Wouldn’t know. Never touch it myself.”

“You know how everything runs here. Do not lie to me, _Kraken_. You might just have a bad ‘accident’.”

Theon took a deep breath. “Give me a week to find out.”

“Three days.”

“Five.”

“Three or I’ll break your fucking kneecaps.”

Theon frowned and stood to pat Styr’s back. An 8 ball slid down his long spine. “Cool, cool, cap. I need my money-making knees so I’ll get to work on that.”

 

Crossing the room, Theon made his way to the Horde. “Hey, chief. My, uh, supply just ran dry.” He put both hands up defenselessly.

Drogo frowned and yanked Theon down by his shirt collar. “You're _what_?”

“I’m out. Ok?”

“Bullshit. You’ve been working the chow hall all night.”

Theon looked at the guards nervously. “Well… not to you. Sorry.”

Drogo lowered his voice “What the fuck is it? A narc?”

Theon nodded. “A big fucking rat with  BIG nasty teeth who doesn’t like those Northern Pagans dealing the H you started buying.”

“ _Cunt!”_ Drogo growled and released Theon. “Don’t worry about big bald rats, Greyjoy. Now give me my shit.”

Theon sighed with feigned relief. “Good deal, chief. Whatever you say.”

He walked away with the Hoard staring down Styr, who was bound to have his own accident in the near future. _Threaten my ass, will you?_

 

Theon stood in the middle of the chow hall looking for a free chair before time ran out.

“Take a seat, inmate!” Trant barked down, leaning on the guardrail.

“Yeah, I know.” Theon grinned and waved. He found a miserable looking new kid sitting at the end of the Aryan’s table alone.

 

“Hey. Where’s your food?” Theon sat across from the boy who simply shrugged. “Someone stole it, right? That sucks. Here, have some of mine.”

The boy took Theon’s candy bar and looked it over.

“That’s from the shithole commissary. You have to buy _everything_ in this place, even food if you plan on eating it. So, what’s up? How’d you end up in my unit?”

“Your unit?”

“Yeah.” Theon grinned. “I run Firell. If you need something, if you have problems, come see me about it."

The boy raised his eyebrow and cocked his head slightly to the left. “ _You_ run this unit? How? Are you a fucking mob boss or some shit?”

“Basically. That’s why I’m in Block D with the other badasses.” Theon leaned forward, putting both elbows on the table, and grinned.

The boy tore open the wrapper, looking unimpressed.

“I’m Greyjoy.” He waited but the guy just blinked and ate his chocolate. Theon frowned. “Rich kid, right? What you do? Hit and run in daddy’s Porsche? Too many DUI’s?”

“I thought no one asked that.”

“What you did? Shit. I’ll find out soon anyway. After a year or so, everyone will know. Inmates here gossip like fucking whores.”

The boy fell forward laughing, to Theon’s surprise. He sat up and pulled Theon’s tray skidding across the table to him. “Oh yeah?”

Theon smiled while his new friend ate. “Yeah. I mean, it is boring in here and we’re all on top of each other.” Theon pursed his lips and stopped smiling. “If you don’t tell people what you did when they might think you’re a pedophile. I would just be vague if I were you.”

“How do you know I’m rich?”

Theon itched his nose with the side his thumb. “Your haircut for one. The way you hold yourself. You're just a kid, but you don’t seem to know enough to be scared.”

“Is that why I’m not scared?”

Kyra’s sultry march caught Theon’s attention from across the plain white room. “Yeah,” he muttered. “So, they may try to extort you, uh, blackmail your family. Just come to me if you need help, buddy.” Theon smacked the table and took his empty tray to the stacked wet crates waiting in front of the steam and banging of the kitchen.

 

He jogged to catch up with her. “Kyra, hey. What’s up?”

She glanced over her shoulder and almost looked away before he saw her smile. “Personal bubble, inmate. Stay three feet away.” She kept patrolling and he kept following.

“Yeah, it’s just, I have this learning disability-”

Kyra rolled her almond shaped hazel eyes. “I’ve seen your file.” Her tight braid was many shades of brown. Her hips bloomed from a tiny waist and swayed even when she stomped.

“If you carried a tape measurer,” Theon swooped around to walk backward in front of her, “I could get the proper idea of,” he stopped and she bumped into his chest with the soft flesh the stiff gray uniform only made more appealing, “how close you want me.”

“Fuck off, Greyjoy.”

Theon grinned.

“Go back to your block if you’re done eating, inmate.”

“I’m not done eating. Just give me a chance.”

“ _Theon!”_ Kyra glanced around frantically and stepped back. “This is my fucking _career_ , do you understand that? Go. Or you’ll get a demerit for insubordination.”

“Kinky.” Theon waggled his eyebrows and slid away while she blushed and tried not to smile. He backed away, watching her leave then turned and hit a warm, soft wall. “Shit!”

His weird friend was just standing there, staring with an uncomfortable intensity. “Who the fuck is that?”

“A… the guard. What was your name?”

“Ramsay.”

“Cool, cool. Well, Ramsay, I have to get back before I get another demerit. Two more and it's solitary, you know?”

“Back to where? Your unit?” It was like a black veil had suddenly been ripped away from Ramsay’s face. He smiled serenely but kept staring and _staring_.

“No, fucking- listen; this is Newt Firell Unit. it’s named after some asshole. There are blocks in every unit, and cells in every block. Where were you assigned?”

“86D.”

“Oh.” Everyone started standing and clearing the tables. No Loras anywhere.“I… D, though? Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. With the other badasses, right?”

“Heh.” Theon rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. I’ll take you.”


	6. Tentacles

 

“So, here’s our block. They only let us out for rec time and meals.” Theon sat on top of one the smooth cement tables then looked up and around as if he was following a rainbow.

“There.” He pointed up a dim corner upstairs. “I think you’re with Baratheon. He’s only a half-grown anemic little shit but, he is a fucking rat. Watch your back.”

Ramsay quickly scanned the common area. “Good to know. How does a snitch survive the block for badasses?”

“His family is a bunch of blond haired, blue eyed, billionaires and his grandfather has been quietly courting white supremacists for decades, so he’s in with the fucking skinhead Nazi fucks. His uncle and mother have some kind of connection to the warden.”

“Ah.” Ramsay’s startling pale grey eyes returned to penetrate Theon, who wasn’t paying attention. “So the guards protect him?”

“They do everything but wipe his ass.”

 _Even better._ Ramsay’s thick white fingers drummed against the table as he rounded it to stand in front of Theon’s distracted face. “What exactly are you looking for?”

“My best friend. I still don’t see him.”

“Well, maybe he died. What do you sell?”

Theon snapped back into focus and looked up at Ramsay with a charming grin.

 

“You like chocolate, right?” Theon glanced over his shoulder with a bright little dawn of a smile.

Ramsay snorted and leaned back against Theon’s cell wall. “Yeah, sure.”

Theon dipped, feeling under Clegane’s mattress then extended his lean arm to offer one. “Here, try this.” Ramsay seemed to search his face for something so he added, “It’s free, no worries.”

Ramsay smirked and opened the clear crinkling wrapper of what looked like a knockoff Reese’s Cup.

It was delicious.

“Do you like it?!” Theon hopped up from kneeling. “It’s great, right? Don’t eat it all, though. You only need, like, a third.”

“How did you get it?”

Theon’s smile fell. “It’s not good to ask friends too many questions, buddy.”

Ramsay popped the rest of chocolate in this mouth. Peanut butter hid the taste well.

“You’re crazy!” Theon laughed.

“Are we friends, Theon?” He crept closer with the warm and open ease of someone who had always belonged in Theon’s space. Something caught his attention. He pulled a sketch pad from under his flat, stained, pillow. Ramsay thumbed through it then tossed on Clegane's bunk.

“Well, yeah. Of course. Don’t worry, kid. I’ll help you out. It’s not bad, especially for a level three block. How, um...” Theon stood and wandered through his open door watching guards march up the halls. “I keep shit running smoothly here,” he murmured. “Sometimes, it’s eat or be eaten…”

The lockdown alarm interrupted him as he was trailing off. “Hey,” he spun to find Ramsay trying not to laugh and grinned back. “No, ignore the sirens. This **is** smooth, motherfucker. Trust me, you don’t want anyone else to be Prince of this shithole. You have no idea what kind of monsters are out there.” Theon put his hands behind his head and dropped to his knees, with the same hidden depth in his eyes and wounded charm in his smile. “They’re coming. Get down. It won’t last long.”

 

When the stretcher passed their block, Theon lifted his head enough to see the long arm hanging down and the bald head bobbing lifelessly.

 

_“Back to your cells, inmates! Headcount!”_

 

It must have been a guard who left the care package on Ramsay’s bed. He looked through it briefly then let himself fall into his new silk  and suede sheets. It was still too thin and hard for his taste, but Ramsay had slept in far worse easily enough.

“Here’s your belongings, sir.” A skinhead not much older than himself hung outside Ramsay’s cell.

“Good.” Ramsay extended a hand and the young man of gnarled features and steely muscles was quick to cross the room and offer up the gift on one knee.

Ramsay snatched his package and sat up to empty it. “What’s your name?”

“Skinner, sir.”

“Fantastic. I think I’m going to want you around, Skinner. Can you try to find me some tape or gum or something?”

“I have some!” Skinner jumped up. “You need pens and pencils and shit?”

“You have all that, Skinner?”

He nodded and rubbed his bald head with a sly, cold smile. “I get to do art therapy as part of my rehabilitation.”

“Nice.”

Skinner made a slight and awkward bow before marching out to accomplish his mission.

“Skinner,” Ramsay shouted. “Call me Ramsay. See you tomorrow.”

Skinner grinned.

Ramsay winked and clicked his hand into the shape of a gun. Once Skinner was out of view, he began to pull out and arrange his clippings.

“That’s my bed! What are- get- THAT’S MY BED!”

“Hello, Joffrey.” Ramsay slid an itching finger down a carefully cut glossy page.

The ‘anemic little shit’ sputtered and spat, stomping his foot. “GET OFF! DO YOU KNOW WHO THE FUCK I AM? YOU!” His thin finger stabbed the stale air in Ramsay’s direction, “You are TOUCHING _MY_ SHIT! I’ll have you fucking shanked in the shower before you can wet your hair if you don’t move right **now**!”

Ramsay leaned back, processing the information. “Move? Where?”

“ **OFF** OF _MY_ BED!”

“But I’m not on your bed.”

“Ye-wha- YES YOU ARE! Those,” Baratheon stomped closer but trembled out of reach, “are **MY** sheets! My mother bought them for ME!”

“Oh. Tell her I said, ‘Good job.’”

Joffrey turned red and started coughing, choking on his impotent fury. “You-you can _NOT_ be serious!”

Ramsay frowned.“I am serious. I love my new sheets. Bitches take the top bunk, Joff.” Ramsay started flipping through a crimson leather notebook, which creaked a little as he cracked its spine.

“YOU CAN’T-”

“I’m trying to read.”

“YOU! GUARD! GUARD! **GUARD**!”

In one fast, fluid motion Ramsay propelled himself silently out of bed. He pulled Joffrey back with the elbow choking his fragile neck and began to twist his thin wrist up behind his back. “Shhhh. We could have a lot of fun; you and me, boy. You don’t seem eager to play. But I’m _bored_. I’m bored and I want a toy, Joffrey. Do you want that to be you?”

“Stop," Joff blinked and swallowed. "No. Stop, please.”

“You break just like a little girl.” Ramsay leaned over so he could look Joff in his big red and blue eyes. “I really appreciate that in a victim.” He watched Joffrey’s eyes, fascinated by how they’d contracted and how they seemed to shiver.

“You’re-you’re breaking my thumb,” Joffrey whined through clenched teeth.

Ramsay released him and spun him around so they faced one another. He clapped Joff on both arms and gave him a squeeze and shake. “I also value a brother who won’t question or undermine me. I think that could be you, Joffrey. How do you like my man Skinner?”

Joffrey appeared pained by his confusion. “I… I like Skinner.”

“Excellent. Well, here we are. I’m bored and you’re losing all your shit to me. I feel like there’s a way we can work together to resolve these problems; some kind of answer that would be mutually beneficial.”

“Oh… ok.”

 

_“Lights out, inmates!”_

 

The next morning, Ramsay searched through the streaming bodies until he caught a glimpse of wavy ash brown hair. Theon was weaving up and down, throughout the line instead of waiting in it.

Talking to everyone. Smiling at all of them. Touching their shoulders. Laughing at their fucking jokes. Never staying still.

Ramsay clenched his jaw and sighed, then marched through the line, shoving stumbling bodies out of his way. He turned right and then left. Somehow Theon popped out of the train of muscles and blank expressions behind him.

“Ramsay?”

He shoved past Alyn, annoyed and searching. Ahead of him now, Theon laughed and put an arm around some blond whore then disappeared into the steamy bathroom with a towel in one arm.

Ramsay tasted hot blood but he strode calmly up the line until he was shoved back. He regained his balance and looked up at a giant man with a half mangled face.

“Wait your turn boy.”

Ramsay turned his empty hands up with a razor cold smile. “Do I look like I’m taking a shower?”

Clegane leaned forward and gave Ramsay a half-hearted looking over. “I don’t give a shit if you’re going to the bathroom to drink the fucking toilet water, if you’re going, get the fuck in line. It starts back there.” He pointed and turned.

“Hmm.” Ramsay tilted his head then went to find Alyn.

“Hey. Who the fuck is that guy? What’s his deal?”

“Nice to see you too, asshole.” Alyn frowned bitterly. He was always frowning. “Your letter said Damon would be here.”

Ramsay punched his friend in the stomach and watched him curl up. He looked around and lowered his voice. “Watch what you say around so many fucking ears, shithead. I’m working on things. Who is that? Clegane, right? What the fuck is his problem?”

“Uh,” Alyn coughed and straightened himself. “He watches that dealer Greyjoy you were trying to catch.”

“Good to know.” He took Alyn’s towel and shoved him out of line. “You smell just fine, sweetie.” He winced apologetically. “The line starts all the way back there and I have to get a start on a busy day.”

Alyn sighed and rubbed his calloused hand over his buzzed hair. “Yeah. I’ll just get your fucking breakfast then.”

Ramsay patted his back. “Good man.”

 

But breakfast was disappointing.

Joffrey introduced him to the Aryans he didn’t know already. They fell in line like good little soldiers and cried like worthless bitches. Apparently, the last person who tried to lead them was another taller blond inbred cunt and his dumb ass was taken out by the Hoard. Now they hung around Baratheon but hated him too much to work for him.

Ramsay listened, clawing his scalp. Nearly all the guards were white, and the three who worked this unit were directly indebted to the Lannisters but no one had thought to rub two sticks together, like pumping their pricks was all they could think of to start a fire.

“Welp,” he slammed both hands down on the table, unable to stand Joff’s voice one instant longer. “I think I understand, and what a shame. You’re letting these fucking animals push you around, huh? And you have the tiny shriveled balls to complain to me about it?”

He found Theon sitting a bright white light across the chow hall

Skinner leaned over the table like he wanted to grab Ramsay's hand to keep from falling. "But what do we _do_?" 

Ramsay rubbed his mouth then pulled his hand away and smiled.

“Take it back. My good friend, my dear mentor, said this very block used to our headquarters. The hardworking, mountain-climbing, conquering North used to run all prisons, just like we've always run _the fucking world_. This whole damn unit is going to be ours again so stop pissing your pants and crying. Remember who and what you are. Remember your fucking heritage, your birthright and carry yourselves with some motherfucking dignity again! We are going to take it all back. We're going have fun again! **That** is what the fuck we are going to do. First, we need to rearrange the board, then we topple the crown.”

 


	7. Pulsating Stripes

“Call, bitch.”

Theon leaned back to stretch with a groan. “Yeah, alright. I call.” He slid three quarters into the pot and scratched at his mess of hair.

“Looking for your quiet friend?” Bronn inquired.

“Shut up, Blackwater.”

“Fuck, I’m out.” Lucky Jack folded.

“Girlfriend?” Bronn pressed.

“Yeah,” Theon muttered.

“Well, it can’t be your boyfriend. No one can miss that monster.”

Theon burst out laughing, surprising himself. He shuddered dramatically because it was all a joke. “Maybe if I was a redhead with better tits. Lucky for me… who the fuck is that?”

“Hmm?” Seaworth looked up from his book. “New guards. That’s... interesting.”

Bronn smirked. “I do hope they aren’t replacing people because of some… scandal or another.”

Seaworth shifted and put his face back in his book.

Bronn itched his twitching bicep and frowned. “Why in the shit are your reading about Smallpox, Seaworth? Too cheery in here for you? Why don’t you lighten the mood with a nice tale about the black plague.”

“It’s coming back. Some parents won’t get the vaccines,” Seaworth said sadly. “All in.” Seaworth laid his cards out.

“Aw, fuck me. Hey, good game, old man.” Theon patted Seaworth’s shoulder and tossed his cards face down onto the stack.

“Where are you going now?” Bronn flicked his cards onto the table miserably. “That fucking light keeps flashing! It’s making me sick!”

“I’m going to work, then I’ll come say hi, alright? Just hold on.” Theon hopped up and jogged to meet a new guard at the block gate.

Theon _told_ Bronn they were addictive. _It’s just a few fucking pills. It’s not like it’s…_ Theon swallowed and touched his sinking stomach. “Hey. I’m Greyjoy. I’m ready.”

The guard didn’t answer.

“Where are you going?”

Theon turned to find Ramsay had appeared beside him. “I do laundry on the Monday Wednesday and Friday rotation. Not to brag or anything, but I do make over a dollar a week if you ever need, like, a toothpick or stick of gum.” Theon thumbed toward himself and grinned.

“Don’t you ever stay still?” Theon’s new friend had a dark look on his face again.

“Um…”

The door rolled open and Theon was waved through.

 

He was three loads in when he finally heard Wex’s cart squealing down the hall.

“Yes!” He ran out and waved.

Wex waved back with his silent somber smile.

They exchange was elegant, really. People had thier theories about Wex but was just a kid who caught onto things more quickly than anyone Theon had known and moved with the nimble, steady, ease of a surgeon.

“Um, hey,” Theon tapped an upside down bucket on the supply cart Wex was gripping to get his attention. “Your wheel needs oil. You know?” He made the motion of a wheel spinning and cupped his ear grimacing. “Do you have some-” he signed W-D-4-0.

Wex nodded and found a half empty can in a netted bag hanging off one side.

 

“There you go.” Theon gave him a thumbs up to indicate that it was fixed. He signed _you’re welcome_.

Wex blinked a moment then nodded and waved bye.

Theon went back to laundry rubbing the baggy in his sleeve to feel the contents. More fat pills to shut Blackwater’s leaking mouth. Theon stopped suddenly and pushed the mound of orange and white until he pulled out a periwinkle button up shirt.

“What the fuck is this?” It smelled like a cologne he knew. Theon rolled back and fell against a churning industrial washer. “Shit.” A flower was embroidered on the corner of each lapel.

 

Seaworth cleared his throat and tapped his ladle on the hot metal tray in front of him. “Theon!”

“Huh?”

“Damn it, son, pay attention. The line needs to keep moving.”

“Oh, yeah. It’s good, the macaroni was good yesterday.”

Seaworth gave a sharp nod. His expressive eyebrows were high on his forehead.

Theon grinned and slid his tray down the line. “Um… can I have the orange one?”

Manderly leaned over the sneeze guard with a huff and dropped a barrel-shaped waxy plastic drink on his tray. It wasn’t even cold.

He slid down the line until his tray came to a stop when a hand slammed down upon it.

“Hey... what’s up, buddy?”

Ramsay yanked Theon’s tray away. “Sit down.”

“You… do you want me to sit with you?”

“Gee, yeah. That would be fucking great.” Ramsay spun and marched away with quick heavy steps. He dropped the tray on a table three rows away and stood staring at Theon.

Theon always grinned when he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help it and Ramsay’s heavy countenance lightened.

 

“So,” Theon sat across from Ramsay after stealing his roll back from his kidnapped tray, “did you hear about my case or something?”

“Why?“

“I didn’t tell you my first name. No one calls me Theon, by the way. It’s just Greyjoy.”

Ramsay relaxed a little and seemed to find something funny. “I saw you in some tabloids.”

“Oh, fuck me. How did I look?” Theon rubbed his face and blushed slightly. “I don’t remember… that wasn’t the best time for me.”

“Your trial?” Ramsay laughed. “Really?”

“It was not the laugh riot I expected.”

Ramsay smiled. “You seemed so… wounded.”

Theon swallowed and glanced around. “Hey! You’re bored, right?”

Ramsay started happily eating Theon’s questionable meatloaf. “Yeah.”

“Want some vitamins?”

“How much?”

“Come hang out with me. Ok? I can’t take it alone.”

“Why?”

“It makes me talk a lot.”

Ramsay laughed and didn’t cover his mouth even though it was full. “Let’s take it now.”

Theon’s gaze briefly flitted around the room. “Now? _Here_?”

“Yeah.” Ramsay took Theon’s orange drink and plopped it in front of him. “Open that for me. You can do it, right? Mr. Smooth. Or are you too much of a pussy?”

Theon scoffed. “Fine. Watch this. Are you watching?”

Ramsay rested his amused head on one fist and ate Theon’s small dry cookie. “Uh huh.”

Theon rolled backward to stretch his spine, both arms curling up behind his head. He sighed and sat up, then tore the foil from the waxy plastic and helped himself to the unnamed drink.

“Bullshit.”

Theon frowned and swallowed. He glanced around then stuck out his tongue to show Ramsay the two purple pills sitting on it. A squid was poorly engraved on each one. With a triumphant  grin he swallowed them both dry and showed Ramsay they were gone. “Yours are inside. Drink up, bitch.”

There was a dark note and sharp inflection which made Ramsay’s giggle seem somewhat unhinged. That was the best thing about Loras; he seemed so wonderfully sane in a place where sanity was hard to come by.

“Shit. I only have fifteen minutes to finish my business. I’ll-” Theon stopped when Sour Alyn, Skinner and Baratheon sat around him. “Is there a problem?” He said coldly.

Joffrey leaned forward to spit, “Shut the fuck up, Greyjoy,” with a whole new level of gleeful confidence, which made Theon suspect that the Aryans were rebuilding.

“Stay.”

As soon as he said it, Theon turned to assure himself Ramsay wasn’t talking to him.

"Did you hear the Hoard took out Styr?"

"Good! Fucking animals." Joffrey tore at his hard role until he was able to rip a piece away.

“The fuck?!” Sour Alyn threw up his hands. “I got your lunch like you told me to, asshole!”

Ramsay just laughed.

 _Holy shit._ “Ah.” Theon stood and stepped away. “I see. You have your friends now. Welp, sieg heil, fellas.”

“ _Sit down_.” Ramsay took Alyn’s extra tray and slid it in front of Theon’s empty chair. “Eat something.”

“You know the food shit but it’s really the company I can’t stomach.” He turned and left without seeing Ramsay’s face turn black.


	8. Clutching the Floor

“Here, here, fuck!” Theon growled. He grabbed Bronn’s hand and pulled him into a distant hug, patting his back roughly.

“‘Bout time.” Bronn snatched the pills from Theon's palm and shoved them in his mouth.

“If you ever take my shit while I’m within ten feet of you again, I’ll fucking cut you off, Blackwater.” _What if some saw?_

“Oh yeah?” Bronn was beginning to relax already. Maybe Theon could have just given him kool-aid stained Tylenol. “I got something; might change your mind.”

“I don’t need a shiv, man.” Because he still had The Hound and everyone who mattered on his side, but also because Clegane would probably find and take or break the weapon and send Theon to medical for having it in the room where he slept. “Just pay up.”

“Ah, yeah. Cash, huh? Next week, Greyjoy.”

Theon rolled his eyes. “Fine. Next week and don’t sell so much as a fucking toothpick to the goddamned Pagans.”

Bronn put up both hands as the new guard yelled for everyone to return their trays and clear out. “Who me? Never.”

“I bet I can beat your smug ass to the courtyard.”

“Yeah,” Bronn laughed and they both stood with everyone else. “I bet you could too. Except you’ll be distracted.” Blackwater pointed without taking much trouble to hide his amusement.

Theon saw Kyra and frowned.

 

“Hey, hey! What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Go away, inmate.” Kyra wiped her eyes then came to a sudden stop. Someone shoved past Theon, knocking him back a few stumbling steps. “Kyra, what happened?”

“I’m fucking fired! That’s what happened! Who did you tell?”

“I didn’t-”

“Everybody, right? Was I a good story? Did you have fun fucking bragging about it?”

“No, I didn’t!”

“I could go to jail, I could have- if they could prove…”

“What? Wait, what do they know? I don’t understand.”

“Shut up, just, it doesn’t matter, does it? I’m fired and, you know what? Fine. Good. I need to do something else. I deserve better than,” she looked around in dismay then shook her head at him, “this.”

“But… I didn’t…” Theon watched her leave. Every step echoed in his hollow chest. “I didn’t tell anyone,” he mumbled. He caught the sound of fast heavy steps approaching from the side and decided it was time to leave.

 

The wooden table was warm on Theon’s back, even though the curling paint made his shoulderblades itch.

“Hey.”

Theon opened one eye. Satin’s hair was glowing around his angelic face. It was cool outside and smelled sweet and smokey like late Autumn but the sun was warm like spring.

“Hey.”

“Loras left.”

Theon squeezed his eyes shut draped his elbow over them. “Already?”

“Yeah. His sentence was overturned. Just like that.”

“Cool.”

“Yeah. I just wanted to let you know.”

Theon swallowed and shrugged. “Whatever. I just met him.” 

Theon couldn’t afford to talk to Satin for very long. He couldn’t look like his friend. The 'arrangement' with Clegane hadn’t gotten him killed or beaten because it was fucking Clegane. No one would think to ask or dare to tell. Theon sighed. Sure, on the outside he could be friends or more with Satin but this was prison and it was run by monsters.

He was probably lonely. Maybe he was hurt often. Theon didn’t have time to worry about that shit, though. It was enough to worry about his-own-fucking-self. Anyway, it's not like he ever hurt the fucking… Satin and his little group.

Someone kicked his table and Theon sat up half-expecting some chance at reconciliation. “Oh," he sighed.

“ _Oh_?” Ramsay titled his cold sharp face.

Theon laid back down. “Is it working for you yet? I’m only thinking more, maybe. Or maybe I’m thinking as much as usual, but I hear it louder.”

“What the fuck are you doing?” Ramsay smacked his thigh to get him to move over.

“Ow! Hey! I’m working on my motherfucking tan, asshole. Look, look at this awful orange.” Theon grabbed his shirt and shook it in Ramsay’s face. “You think this hot neon color works with pale skin? _Really_? Besides, I like to be a gorgeous shade of golden brown, you know?” Theon smiled to himself and stubbornly laid down again.

“Why did you leave this morning?”

“I didn’t notice your tattoo until those shitheads sat down with you. It was partly covered by your sleeve, I guess. Skinheads, or Aryans, or the White Brotherhood, or The Hitler Fanboys, whatever name you’re going by, I don’t eat with Nazis.”

“Why?”

“ ** _Why_**?” Theon shook his head and flipped onto his stomach. “Fuck, kid. I hate everything you believe in and stand for, **that** is why.”

Ramsay picked a paint chip out of Theon’s irritated back.

“Don’t!” Theon growled and jumped up. “This is the worst day!”

“Is it? Worse than when you woke up beside those two corpses? I read that one was beside you, on an old quilt of all things.  I guess you didn’t have a mattress?”

“Shut up.”

“I read that you tried to revive that one, the boy who choked on his vomit while the other one’s heart and breathing slowly came to a stop in the room down the hall. Did you hear him make that noise?”

“Shut up,” Theon whispered. He felt like everyone was watching, yet that no one was there, that he wasn’t here, that he never left Rodrik’s apartment, like that day had never really ended, that quiet horror and then-

“A gasp and a hiccup, right? Or did it actually sound like a rattle to you?”

 _Like snoring_. Just like Theon’s father passed out on the couch with crushed beer cans around him. He’d go still and silent while Theon's cartoons played and lawnmowers hummed outside. Then Balon would suddenly snort and jolt then start snoring again. But this, this was so soft; so shallow he couldn’t even tell when it stopped.

Theon took his shirt and hugged it to his chest. He was allowed to go back to his cell early and skipped group that evening.

 

“Theon?”

He just stared at his smiling jolly roger. “What? Was I short?”

“No.” Seaworth walked into his cell but didn’t come too close. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Yes, I do.”

“I’ll let you out of our deal. You know that, don't you?”

“You still need money for your little friend.” Theon swallowed the painful lump in his throat. “I still need to look like an actual fucking Greyjoy. No one has tried to  _touch_ Wex since the rumor started that he’s Euron’s… whatever. He must be living more comfortably than he could on minimum wage anyway. Maybe he can get a cochlear implant or some shit.” Theon smiled back at the skull. “I’m doing god’s work, really. Helping the needy. Why would I stop?”

After a moment, Seaworth nodded somberly. “Alright. But, if you change your mind, it will work out.”

“No, it wouldn’t. The supplier your smuggling from will miss his piece and the fiends I fix will miss their’s and the Pagans will take over and push H on everyone because it's so much cheaper and more addictive than pot or molly or nightshade. This is a hard place and you have to be harder or it will break you. That’s just the way it is.”

“You have to get out, son. You’re still so young and you have a short sentence. That’s the reality you should actually start facing.”

“You’re not my-” Theon bit his lip and hoped Seaworth had left already. He closed his eyes and stopped smiling.

  
Theon got ad seg for skipping dinner, but they didn’t offer him any food in the hole, which was pretty funny. The pills finally kicked in then and Theon had no one to talk to after all. 

 

Ramsay ran a finger over the glossy picture again. It dull and wrinkled now, but that hardly mattered. The real thing was just around the corner. 


	9. Hypnotized

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ramsay sets up the last of the dominos.
> 
> Meet Joffrey and Damon.

_**Joffrey** _

 

Starla stumbled, slid, and rolled down three stairs. It was just like so many nightmares; her muscles were sluggish and dumb to the doom just behind her.

“Help,” she slurred and grabbed the banister. She was up. The world spun. The gold and ivory room tilted this way then that, and she realized she was making progress down the winding staircase. Her feet sunk impossibly through each step.

A short woman in a peach scrubs-like uniform stood frozen at the Lannister’s grand entryway.

“Lexi,” Starla gasped. “She’s dead. Call the-” Her face became a red mist then her body dropped and somersaulted sloppily to the landing.

Joffrey sat shaking and crying on the step just behind where she fell. His arm was stretched back, having just caught himself. The kickback took him by surprise.

He couldn’t hear the maid screaming over the ringing in his ears and though he tried five times, he didn’t even graze her before she’d escaped the looming mansion.

Lexi was hanging in his bedroom. The leather belt creaked each time her young body swayed. He can still see her bulging eyes and purple tongue when he touches himself at night, but sitting on that stair, covered in pinprick pink droplets, he only shivered and cried and pulled his phone from his pocket.

“Mommy,” he stammered. “I had an accident.”

 

*******

 

“Mr. Bolton, nice to see you again.” Warden Qyburn waved Ramsay in. He glanced up and down the hall and then shut the door. “Secretary Lannister called me. That doesn’t happen very often.”

“Oh?” Ramsay smiled warmly and dropped himself in a shit brown felt and wooden chair. “How exciting for you.”

“He doesn’t want his grandson sharing a cell with you.”

Ramsay’s bottom lip protruded thoughtfully and with a semblance of hurt. “Why? We’re from fairly similar backgrounds-”

“Families, at least,” Qyburn didn’t mind correcting him. In fact, Ramsay saw the excitement in his beady eyes. _Poke the rat, watch it react._ “I wouldn’t say similar _backgrounds_.”

Ramsay leaned back and folded his hands in his lap. “I doubt you expected to find yourself stuck in this shithole. I sure didn't. And yet,” his hands flew up like fireworks, “here we are. So, how can I help you with your current problems?”

“Problems?”

“You know that this prison, like so many others, has become a defacto madhouse since the insane have no more state homes to take them in. I know Lithium, Trazodone, Haldol and whatever the fuck else they need are expensive as hell. So, you have a large population in the prison which is costing you money instead of making you any. They can’t even work in your sweatshops and they have this annoying habit of killing themselves. That’s not very good for your brand, is it?”

“I see you did some research during your trial?” Qyburn asked, happily.

He did listen like _just_ like a fucking shrink; studying Ramsay, amused and intrigued. They don’t listen as other people do; scrounging around your words for any morsels to feed their own ego. Instead, everything you say is interpreted at a cool distance as a reflection of your sickness. It’s all so fucking patronizing.

But Qyburn is hungrier than most people as doesn’t pretend to himself that he has any moral high ground to lose, so Ramsay relaxed. “Why wouldn’t I? I always strive to make the best out of an unfortunate situation. Do you know just who the fuck my father is?”

“Of course.”

“Super. Let’s skip to solving your problems then. PSIer is a subsidiary of Bolton Industries. Many doctors are squeamish about working with our pharmaceutical company, but you, **you** are an entrepreneurial scientist. You also happen to be in charge of hundreds of prisoners. Free citizens with all their ‘money’, ‘rights’ and ‘lawyers’ are difficult to get into clinical trials. So, who better for Father to work with? And why shouldn’t you turn your financial loss into a gain and whet your experimental appetite while you’re at it?”

Qyburn licked his lips and gazed up a moment. Ramsay could see him imagining things unfolding. “And what do you want, Mr. Bolton?” He answered at last.

“Me? Well, I hate to make my friend Joffrey uncomfortable, so I’d like to switch cellmates, first of all.”

“And?”

“And, say the tension between gangs, races, hoards, whatever- got too tense in here and some more incidents happened. That would be the perfect opportunity for you to utilize the same type of segregation that The Wall and the Federal Prison at King’s Landing have found success with. Put all the gangs in separate units and make their appointed leaders work with the guards.”

“I see.” Qyburn rubbed the grey stubble on his chin. “And I suppose you would be one of the leaders? You know the Newt Firell Unit has been run by the Greyjoy boy for years now. He’s well liked-”

“No, he isn’t. Did you know he meets with your silent janitor on a daily basis? His drugs are well-liked, not him. Isn’t his family… like, a cartel or some shit? Maybe Euron’s tentacles found a way into your prison. Doesn’t he have a peculiar habit of hiring mutes? I don’t know. I’m probably an idiot. Hey, you have my IQ test results, you tell me.”

Ramsay clapped his hands. “I’ll help Theon stay clean. He’ll help me keep things running smoothly. In fact, he should bunk with me so I can keep a close eye on him.”

“Now that his affair with that guard is over,” Qyburn remarked bitterly. “You’ll make sure he doesn’t… create any unnecessary… issues? That’s a very delicate situation… a guard and an inmate.”

“Theon won’t cause you any problems, not as long as he’s under my thumb,” Ramsay assured him. “I promise.”

“Well, if there were more _incidents…_ ”

“Yes?”

“I worry about Dr. Stark. She’s the lovely redheaded physician in medical and she takes an awfully personal interest in the well-being of our inmates; their treatment, their ‘rights’.” Qyburn frowned. “She’s so bright and _inquisitive_. So resolute... stubborn, even."

“I see. Well, that kind of personal touch could easily be misinterpreted by a bunch of psychotic inmates, couldn’t it?”

Qyburn shrugged and nodded sadly. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his flimsy composite wood desk. “Styr was the third person whom the Hoard has murdered this year alone. If _incidents_ started happening, Drogo is another person I would _worry_ about.”

“Understood.” Ramsay took a piece of paper and pen and scribbled a number and email down, then slid it across the table. “That’s head of R&D at PSIer. She’s ready to work with you.” Ramsay stood and pushed his chair in toward Qyburn’s desk. “Let’s keep in touch.” He winked and grinned then showed himself out.

 

**_Damon_ **

“I said,” Alyn stood up, knocking his barstool over. It bounced off the dark wood floor and rolled back toward the bar. “FUCK YOU!”

“Uht oh.” Damon downed the rest of his beer and stood up. “Watch out, darlin’ it might get messy in here.” He patted the cute little brunette beside him on her soft round shoulder. He totally could have scored with that if Alyn didn’t ruin it.

“Listen, you backwoods, hillbilly ass, know-nothing, cousin-fucking, tooth-missing, white trash bastard.” A college kid wearing a blazer over a hoodie stood up and started poking Alyn’s Slayer T-shirt. “If you can’t take a fucking joke, why don’t you stay home on Pa’s farm or blow a cow or something?”

“I am not white trash,” Alyn sneered through a tight grimace. Then he lunged forward to snatch Damon’s bottle of Jameson and smashed it against the bar.

“Fuck, Alyn, smashing a whiskey bottle on the bartop is such a white trash fucking thing to do, though,” Damon lamented, swaying.

Ramsay giggled and put Hank III on the jukebox, leaning against it like an old friend. “Get ‘em boy!”

“No-”

The kid didn’t even land a punch before Alyn knocked him on his ass. Alyn grabbed a fistful of hair and started slamming it into the beer-soaked floor. The boy’s friend tried to pull Alyn off and pull his arm as he tried to stab his victim with broken glass.

“DAMN IT, RAMSAY!” Damon shouted over the music. “Now you got him all fucking riled!” He easily kicked a little shitstain in a cable sweater and man bun off of Alyn and smashed his head into the wall.

“Take it outside! OUTSIDE!” Roz yelled. “Look what you did to my plaster!”

“I’m sorry, baby, I’ll buy you an-nother, kay?”

The third ginger college kid tried to tackle Damon’s waist with a high pitched, groaning scream. Damon bobbed a little and looked down with some amusement.

Then the loudmouth under Alyn started to scream like a rabbit in a trap. Alyn kept stabbing and stabbing, heaving through his clenched teeth. Each time he yanked the bottle out of flesh more blood seemed to fall as it rose up above his shoulder and plunged down again.

“Fuck.” Damon grabbed the back of the ginger boy’s collar and tossed him aside. “Common, we gotta go.” He struggled to wrap Alyn in a bear hug and carry him off. “Ramsay, what bar did we start at?”

People were running out but Ramsay shoved his way past them. “Follow me.” He threw some twenties at Roz. “Give us a head start before you make any calls, ok?”

“Don’t come back here!” Roz screamed, but she picked the bills off the floor anyhow and tucked them into her bra.

 

“This way.” Ramsay led him back through the kitchen and out into the dirt alley. “Ok, we came in by Dottie’s. Let’s just take the train tracks-”

The ginger kid who’d followed them screamed unintelligibly and charged.

Ramsay frowned and tripped him before he could reach Alyn then dropped gracefully to one knee and stabbed the back of the boy’s freckled neck with his hunting knife.

The boy went limp immediately. Urine slowly pooled around his hips.

“Fuck, Ramsay! What the hell was that?” Damon exploded.

“Whoops.” Ramsay stood and smiled apologetically. “Well, maybe he’s…” he used the tip of his shoe to turn the boy's shoulder up a bit. “Nope. That fucker’s dead.”

“I’m sorry,” Alyn choked.

“Don’t fucking check his vitals! Let’s go!”

 

Before they could make halfway it to Dottie’s sirens were already wailing and searchlights were scanning their little town.

“This way.” Damon pulled Alyn’s leather bomber jacket and yanked him into an alley.

“Oh, great job, shithead. It’s a dead end!” Ramsay snapped his fingers for them to return.

“No, man! This is McClafferty’s gun shop!” Damon argued hitting the vinyl siding as if that would prove his case.

“I know it is, Damon! And that’s Vic’s, and the alley's fenced off down there between the two front of the air conditioner!”

“No. Shut up. Just look-listen,” Damon hit the lock button on his key fob. They heard the horn and saw the lights flash. “My truck’s right there!”

He raced toward it and Alyn followed.

“Idiots! You fucking god damned idiots!” Ramsay took a side door into Vic’s pawnshop.

“Oh, fuck.” Damon stopped at the metal fence then looked down at Alyn. “Come on.” He cupped his hands together as the sirens approached. "Go."

“I can’t. I can’t leave...”

“Now, Alyn. I’ll climb after you.”

Alyn swallowed and stepped into his hand while red and blue lights painted the building along Main street. Damon hoisted him up and over. He was trying to pull himself up when the spotlight landed on him.

“I have sights on a 6’6” blond male,” an officer shouted into the walkie-talkie at his shoulder.

His partner’s door flew open. She popped up behind it, just a shadow against flashing lights. “Down on the ground!”

He could tell from her stance she had a clear shot. “Alright. Alright.” He got down slowly, on one knee then the other. “It was me.” Damon put his hands behind his head. “I’m sorry. It was all me.”

 

*******

 

“Danzer?”

“Yup?” Damon sat up in his cot. “What’s up?”

“Mail.”

“For me? No shit!” He hopped up and took it from Skinner. “Thanks, man. Is he here? Did you meet him?”

Skinner nodded and tried to click the heels of his cheap sandals.

“Hey, just, fucking relax, man.” Damon bent low to put an arm around Skinner’s sharp shoulders. “You’re in now. You’re not a fucking foot soldier. What did I tell you? Right?”

Skinner smiled. “See you soon, brother.”

“Later, Skinner-man.” Damon opened the manilla envelope and pulled out a paper and heavy ring of keys.

 

After reading the letter three times, Damon destroyed it. He _hated_ working on women. Ramsay fucking knew that. But, they were setting up a man his size. Who else could do it? He groaned and rubbed his face with both hands.

“What’s up, Dance-for-Me?” Sweet Raff asked from a bottom bunk three rows down.

“I got a new job!” He held up the huge key ring and grinned. “Janitor!”


	10. Paralyzed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dominos begin to fall. 
> 
> Meet Davos.

“GET UP! GET YOUR ASSES UP!”

 

“What?” Theon woke sitting up and punching the cold air. “Is it morning already?”

Clegane growled in assent. “This new guard is a real boil on my ballsack.”

“Yeah.” Theon rubbed his eyes and shook when he yawned. “What a douchebag,” he mumbled.

Clegane didn’t ask why Theon was in Ad Seg for two days, or why he refused his dinner again, or anything but, “Did you get me more whiskey?”

The doors rolled open. “I haven’t seen my guy yet. Ask me after dinner.”

“GREYJOY!” Officer Hoat stomped a foot down in front of their door. “I said MOVE! That’s a fucking demerit!”

“Wha- but! But I didn’t run this time!”

“And you didn’t move.” Hoat jotted the infraction down on his stupid little pink pad.

Theon rolled his eyes, snatched his towel from the foot of his bunk and walked out smiling.

 

The morning rest of sucked too.

Ramsay kept calling his name in a sing-song voice as he headed to the shower line then tripped him as he passed. He stumbled right into Areo Hotah. Ramsay and his asshole friends laughed and cat-called while Theon made his awkward apology.

 

_**Davos** _

 

“Good morning. License and registration, gentlemen.” A German Shephard was sniffing around up the line.

“Here you are.” Davos pressed his mouth into a casual attempt at a smile.

“Do you two have passports?”

“Eh, no.”

“You’ll need passports next year. Turn your engine off for me.”

“Right.” A sandstorm blew furiously across the bridge.

“Are you citizens of the United States?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Yes, I am, sir,” Matthos affirmed.

“Is anyone traveling with you?”

“No, sir. Just me, my boy here, and Beth.” Davos padded the door of his black truck affectionately.

“Who is Beth?”

“Uh… my truck.” The dog was at the car in front of him now.

“Does this seem like the time or place for jokes, sir?” The officer said, leaning down.

Davos saw how stupid he looked courtesy of the man’s reflective glasses. “Oh, well…”

The German Shepherd pulled on its leash and lead a border agent to his truck bed.

“What the hell?” Matthos turned to look back.

The dog started barking excitedly.

“Did you check them?” Davos whispered, keeping his mouth still as a ventriloquist.

“Yes. Only one boy had one joint. I made him put it out and throw it away.”

Davos’ eyes widened. “Put. It. Out?”

“Yes.”

“He. Was. Smoking?”

“... yes.”

“Well then, what do you think he smells like, son?”

The border agents popped the false lining out of Davos’ truck bed. “Holy shit!” One called.

The truck dipped and wobbled as their clients hopped out and went running. Border patrol started shouting.

“Holy shit,” Davos lamented.

 

*******

 

“Theon! Thank Christ you’re here,” Seaworth grumbled. One eyebrow was arched in annoyance.

“What’s up, old man?”

“Where’s that extra can opener? You know, that- the heavy one with the rubber handle?”

“Oh. Um…” Theon rubbed his forehead and tried to remember. “Two drawers left of the freezer.”

“Thanks!”

Theon slid his tray down the line. Sometimes the routine made his life seem like a strange cycle happening without him in it. His body would stand in for him so his mind could wander.

Seaworth came out of the kitchen waving the can opener triumphantly. Manderly wiped his brow with his stained apron the lifted a warm, dripping ladle. “Chicken pot pie?”

“No, thanks, man. Stomach bug, you know?”

He took a roll instead and headed to the Sunspear table to smooth things over with Hotah and Martell. He still didn’t make any headway as far as pushing product, but at least he wasn’t on Hotah’s shitlist and the Aryan fuckheads kept their distance; he hoped for awhile.

 

Theon’s shoulders tensed when he heard the fast heavy steps approaching. _Nope. That didn’t last long._

“Hello, Theon. Where have you been?”

“Don’t worry about it, _Bolton,_ ” he grumbled and kept searching around his mattress.

“ _BOLTON,”_ Ramsay mocked, exaggerating his contempt. “Why do you say it like a B film detective who just identified the murderer?”

“Maybe I did…”

Ramsay laughed so happily that Theon had to bite his lip until his eyes watered to keep from grinning. He cleared his throat climbing up to his bunk and started ripping off his sheets as cooly as he could force himself. “I thought ‘Ramsay’ was your last name.”

“Well, it’s my first name, Theon.”

“Fucking call me ‘Greyjoy’! Ok? Alright? Ramsay is a LAST name!” he blurted defensively. “You didn’t tell me- I found out you were a Bolton when your new buddy Skinner delivered my _empty_ care package.”

Ramsay had invited himself in again and started casually investigating Theon’s cell. “Right! Thanks for the new underwear and everything, but they were too small so I threw them away.”

“MY ARMANI-” Theon put both hands up to stop himself, “whatever.” He peered through the gap between the bed and wall then sat up suddenly and faced Ramsay at last. “Did you steal my fucking sketchpad?!”

“Did I relocate **my** sketchpad?” Ramsay corrected. “Yes, I did.”

“Holy shit.” Theon pulled his hair and moaned.“So is this something we can settle or what? What do you want?”

Some Sunspear men walked by shouting “Simon!” and laughing.

Theon grinned then sat back with a weary huff when they were out of sight.

“Simon? Well now, who’s _really_ bullshitting about their name?”

“It’s an inside joke.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, really.” Theon pulled his legs closer to his chest. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Ramsay froze and pierced Theon with his icy stare. “Why wouldn’t I? Because you’re such great besties I couldn’t possibly appreciate your special bond?”

“Something like that.” Theon found the Visine bottle he’d been preparing on and off all damn day and started shaking it. “Be cool and keep an eye out.” Covering one nostril, he snorted through the other, then switched sides. So little and gone so fast. It tasted sweet running down the back of his throat.

“I don’t speak their dialect,” stumbled out of his mouth. “They basically say ‘yeah, man’ a lot but with their accents, I thought they were calling for some dude named Simon.” Theon let himself fall back and smiled at his happy Jolly Roger. “I asked who he was. They thought it was hilarious.”

“You know you’re white, right?”

Theon’s muscles eased into sun-warmed fluffy clouds. He took a deep breath and felt his empty heart fill up with false but deep contentment. “I’m _not_ a fucking Nazi,” he affirmed to himself again.

Ramsay’s head popped up beside him suddenly, peering over the mattress with his savage giddiness. “Where did you learn Spanish?”

“From my mother,” Theon confessed. His starry eyes were getting heavy.

Ramsay folded his arms on Theon’s mattress and rested his head on them. “So what’s her dialect?”

“Buenos…”

While Theon nodded off, Ramsay’s cool white hand broke into the stinging emptiness between them. Closer and closer. His fingers must have grown longer stretching so desperately. Theon’s smooth arm had such a delicate wrist. Are frail things beautiful after they’re broken, or simply because they could be? “Theon, what is this?”

“Don’t hate me.” Theon’s eyes blinked slowly and closed again.

“I don’t.” Ramsay held Theon’s hand up and examined his long fingers.

Like a saint in an oil painting looking to heaven while the fires rise at his feet, his exhausted eyes rolled up to Ramsay. “Do you really like me?” he rasped softly.

Ramsay closed his eyes and squeezed Theon’s hand.

“I like you. No one likes me, thhh-”

“Get your fucking feet off my bed.”

Ramsay frowned and opened his eyes. “Sure.” He started to climb up but was pulled down.

“No, no. None of that shit. Rule one: if you want to fuck him, do it your god damn cell.” He noticed Theon’s arm had dropped limply and peered closer. “Rule two: he has to be **conscious** and Rule Three: paid up front. Now, get the fuck out of my cell.”

“We were talking.”

The Hound wheezed then barked laughing. “Oh? Just a friendly chat? Get the fuck out before I break your face, Bolton. Pay me before you even think about ‘talking' to him again.” He picked Ramsay off the bunk bed and tossed him out of the cell.

Ramsay hit the wall and dropped to the concrete floor. He slowly picked himself up, groaning.

Skinner ran over and helped him stand. “Shit! What happened?”

Ramsay smile was wide and wild. “Nothing. I just got some extra motivation.”

“Well, what do we do?”

“Did you see Bronn for me?”

“Oh, yeah!” Skinner stood elbow to elbow with Ramsay and slid a filed screwdriver into his pocket.

“Wonderful. Let’s go play basketball.”


	11. Trapped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> End of Part 1
> 
> Meet Alyn.

“I’ll do it,” Alyn volunteered for the third time as they headed out of the cafeteria.

Ramsay slid an arm around his shoulders. “I don't need you in the yard. I need you in there.” Ramsay stopped in front of the long hall to the Administrative building.

Alyn clenched his fists. “I can do it!”

“Of course, you can. But, I need to establish myself with the unit and Skinner needs to prove himself to me.”

“But I don't have anything to lose.”

“Alyn,” Ramsay squeezed his shoulder, digging his fingers in painfully, “I didn’t ask what you thought, did I? My father has hired a new firm... anyway, you already have all the cred you need.” Ramsay patted his back and shoved him toward the gate. “Have fun!” 

 

“Theon!” Father Tarley smiled warmly; the only stupid smile Theon couldn't help but kind of believe. “I’m so glad you came.”

“Boring without me, huh?” Theon picked up a little speed entering the room. It was called The Chapel but it looked like all the other 1980s offices in the painfully bland and broken down building. The first time he saw Loras was in this room, not that he really cared. Theon noticed his gorgeous flower tattoo.

He stopped short when he saw Sour Alyn sitting in the circle with his arms crossed. Unfortunately, if Theon missed group again, he could lose all the privileges he’d worked to regain, so he poured himself some watery coffee then sat opposite of the unwelcome newcomer.

 

_**Alyn** _

“I didn’t ask for a lawyer,” he said simply.

“You want to help your friends, don’t you?” A weasely looking man with sharp little eyes sat his briefcase down and pulled out a laptop. He took Alyn’s glare as a ‘yes’. “That’s also what Mr. Bolton wants, as you can imagine, which is why he hired my firm.”

Alyn defrosted slightly. “Are you representing Damon?”

“That’s right.”

“What do I do?”

“One moment.” Petyr tapped the keys so quickly and fluidly that Alyn suspected he was just making noise. “First, tell me everything you’ve said to the police, even if it’s not about that night  and your incident bar. Everything. If you told them you're allergic to red M&Ms, I need to know. After that, I can tell you what to do from now on.”

Alyn nodded. “Ok.”

 

*******

 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” A Rider hopped up from a cold metal bench before Ramsay’s hand even touched the basketball.

“Who me?” Ramsay blinked innocently and scooped the ball off of the wet cement. “I was just going to shoot some hoops. Why? Did you want to play?”

Drogo growled from the back of his throat and slowly came out of the Hoard’s pavilion. “Go.”

Ramsay smiled pleasantly. “Why should I?”

Drogo popped and cracked his neck and shoulders, which Ramsay had never found very impressive.

He started dribbling the ball, passing it between his legs as Drogo came closer. The Hoard laughed to each other, pointing at Ramsay and slapping their thighs. “Don’t worry, I’ll share,” Ramsay offered and bounced the basketball off Drogo’s chest. “Oops. Should I have said, ‘catch’ first?”

Drogo growled again and lumbered forward. Ramsay gritted his teeth and took a right hook to the nose. He stumbled back while the Hoard exploded with whoops and laughter. Skinner helped him catch his footing. Drogo went to swing again but this time Ramsay ducked and flipped Drogo over his shoulder.

The enormous man landed on his back, winded. Before he could sit up, Ramsay dropped shins-first onto Drogo’s wide shoulders, grabbed his huge man-bun, lifted his head by it then slammed it into the concrete.

The Hoard jumped up to attack. Skinner and other Aryans ran in while sirens went off.

Hidden in the chaos, Ramsay used Drogo’s brief disorientation to hold his head back by that fist of black hair and shove Bronn’s specially made weapon up his nose. Quick as a pickpocket, he yanked it out and flung the shiv high above the fighting and over the rec yard fence.

He was kicked in the ribs and rolled off Drogo as guards poured in.

“DOWN! EVERYBODY DOWN!”

Drogo’s heel shook and kicked against the pavement as he sputtered and gurgled on foam.

 

“Well?” Father Tarley asked with the usual remarkably open expression on his rosy face.Theon pressed his folded hands to the smirk he was trying to hide. Alyn licked his lips and cleared his throat. “Did you have something to add? To what Jack expressed?”

“This is a safe place to share, Alyn," Theon tried to say with a straight face. "Please, don’t hold back your feelings.”

“Feelings?”

“Yes. Yeah… well,” Father Tarley tried another approach, “you looked like you had something to say.”

 _Oh, please._ He was shifting in his seat, stomping and groaning because _He can't wait to leave._

Alyn turned to Jack. "You should have taken him out.”

_“What?!”_

Father Tarley shook his head emphatically. “Oh, Alyn, no. We don’t-”

“Stop being a little bitch. Get in fights and work out every day-”

“Alyn, no!”

“Then when you get out, you take that fucker down.” Alyn dusted his hands off. “Easy.”

“EASY?” Lucky Jack exploded. “Do you have any idea- LOOK AT ME! I’m fucking crippled!”

Alyn thought and shrugged. “Guess you weren’t a good fighter.”

“What?! What does that even mean? Why the fuck did you come here?”

“Yeah, Alyn,” Theon seconded. “Please, share.”

“Ramsay told me to.”

“Ha!” Theon threw up his hands. “Does everyone see this?!”

Greyworm ran a heavy palm down his face.

“Here we go,” Seaworth muttered.

“Theon, remember?” Tarley pushed gently. “Hmm? What we talked about? Not everything is about you.”

“NO, BUT THIS IS! It really IS this time!”

“Uh huh.” Lucky Jack folded his arms, glad to have the attention off of himself.

“Tell them, Alyn. Tell them why Bolton sent you.”

Alyn frowned bitterly and crossed his arms.

“Alyn?” Father Tarley pressed.

Lucky Jack tapped his foot impatiently. “Well?”

“Be-cause,” Alyn growled through clenched teeth, _“he thinks. I have. Anger issues.”_

“Alright, very good, Alyn!” Tarley sat up straighter and looked happily around the circle. “And do you agree with that? Are you here to get help?”

“He’s here to bother me.”

“ _Theon…_ ” Tarley warned patiently.

“Or spy on me.”

“Greyjoy is being disruptive again,” Greyworm said flatly.

“Please. You’re just jealous.” Theon shook his head dismissively. “I didn’t shit all over any of the 10 words you’ve ever managed to speak.”

“Theon!”

“You’re a narcissist,” Greyworm calmly asserted.

“Well,” Theon laughed, “wouldn’t you be if you were me?”

“Enough, now. That’s enough! We’re off track.”

“Theon’s making me… feel threatened,” Alyn just barely managed to make himself say.

“What?” Theon’s face fell. “You’re trying to get me thrown out, is that it?”

“I told you,” Alyn said darkly. “I have anger management issues.”

"Yeah? Fuck you." He snickered and glanced around the circle. "Let's see what happens."

“Theon, Alyn is making some progress already. You’re only defending your ego again and pulling the group off track.”

“Come on. I’m fine. It’s cool. I’ll knit him a sweater, alright? It will have a big frowny face and everything, he’ll love it.”

Father Tarley raised his hand to get a guard’s attention and waved him over.

“Don’t, I’ll never get my job in the kitchen back if I fuck this up.”

“Then I recommend you work on learning from the consequences of your actions.”

Theon felt an unbearable pain sinking into him and immediately threw it back out. “Fine!” he laughed. “You think _ **I’m**_ an asshole?” The guard grabbed his arm and shoulder and pulled Theon out. “Have fun with **that** happy asshole! Don’t make the coffee too hot because it’s going to end up thrown in one of your miserable faces.”

“Let’s go, inmate.”

“Watch out for the stirrers.” Theon mimicked getting stabbed in the neck and having blood shoot out from the puncture.

Shortly after he left, the alarm went off.

Theon looked to his guard, who patted him down then cuffed his hands behind his back. “Hands to the wall. Eyes on your feet.”

He reported to management through the little black speaker on his shoulder and counted off the inmates accounted for in the Chapel.

Just before the alarm stopped, three guards came ushering Ramsay up the hall. He saw Theon and flashed a wide, bloody smile.

Theon glanced down the hall to avoid his gaze and figured Ramsay must be headed to Medical, while the number of guards escorting him and zip ties on his wrist promised he would be in Ad Seg for some time.

The guards stopped to relay what had happened. Another body, something about the Hoard.

Warden Qyburn came out of the stairwell down the hall with looking more curious than upset. “What happened?”

“I was attacked,” Ramsay explained, doing his best impression of someone who was shaken.

“I want to see him after the doctor.”

While Qyburn talked to the guards, Ramsay crossed the few shorts steps between he and Theon. Theon refused to look up and pretended something about his big toe was troubling him as he tilted his foot this way and that.

Ramsay pulled him forward by the collar of his thin cotton shirt and gave him a quick bloody kiss. Just as quickly, he released Theon and walked away as the small group broke.

Theon's guard grabbed his arm and shoved him forward.

“Don’t tell anyone what you heard,” the guard barked.

Theon wiped his mouth on his shoulder. “Not a problem.”

 

Three days later, Ramsay taken out of solitary and Theon was taken out of the safety of Clegane's cell.


	12. Cutting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ramsay and Theon's first night together. Ramsay shows some concern and tries to be a good listener.

“Doesn’t it hurt to lay on your back?” Ramsay gently caressed Theon’s face with the back of his hand.

He should clearly do something; probably explode, but Theon seemed incapable of even moving his fingers.

If he would ever tell anyone about this moment, he might say, ‘I was aching and burning’ but it wouldn’t be completely true, just as close to the truth as he could get.

“Don’t lay on your tattoos.” Ramsay pulled Theon onto his side so they were face to face. “Did you have much time between sentencing and intake?”

Theon shook his weightless, formless, head.

“I did. I had six weeks before I had to turn myself in. I did a lot of research on Firell Unit. I mean, I started with Wikipedia. Doesn’t everybody? Guess what I saw at the bottom of the page?”

Theon sucked in enough air to eventually exhale, “What?”

“ _Notable prisoners_. And then, _Theon Greyjoy_.”

Theon glanced up, noticing strange clippings decorating the wall, behind Ramsay’s white shoulder.

“Oh.” It was a stupid thing to say. It didn’t matter.

“On the WDOJ website, it said you didn’t attend your first two parole hearings. Why?”

Theon’s throat was wet and heavy. His physical pain became a comfort.

“Theon?”

“I don’t… I don’t know.”

“You didn’t even put up a defense. Even a court-appointed lawyer could have got you a plea bargain for time served.”

Theon shook his head so slightly, he was all but moving his nose.

Ramsay rolled closer to Theon. “Why?” He brushed his cheek and mouth across Theon’s face. His fingers went searching through Theon’s hair and raked against his skull.

“There’s nothing out there for me.”

Ignited, Ramsay crashed upon Theon’s mouth with all his hunger.

But Theon pushed him back. “No.”

“No?”

“Just don’t…”

Ramsay smiled. “You’re right-handed, aren’t you?” He grabbed Theon’s pinky and pulled it backward, shoving his thumb into the knuckle. Theon yelped and suddenly came back to life. _Yelped_ . It was fucking adorable. “I like the tricks you do with your hands. But you don’t tell me ‘no’ anymore. I find it’s so painful to be refused, denied, **ignored**.” The tip of his eager thumb kept pressing into Theon’s yielding joint.

“Ow-ah! Don’t, please!”

“Right, _painful_. I tend to reciprocate in kind.” Theon followed that pain until he had rolled onto his other side, looking to the cell door. His legs twitched and jerked against Ramsay’s. “So? What did we learn?”

“Don’t say ---.”

Ramsay tilted his head, reminding Theon of Guthrie, _his_ Malamute, whenever _his_ car would pull in the driveway. Just like that, the pain was welcome again.

“Don’t say…?” Ramsay insisted.

Theon grinned. “I’m not supposed to say it.”

Ramsay pursed his lips against a smile then forced his way into Theon’s mouth, still holding his pinky and its abused knuckle hostage. Theon whined and tentatively grazed over the ridges of Ramsay’s ribs with his fingertips. Ramsay broke away.

Theon gasped, and gasped again when Ramsay kissed down his neck. He was torn between bearing the agony and guilt of the past or suffering the pleasure and guilt of the present. The hot, sucking, pressure moved down his neck and turned into a slow bite on the back of his shoulder.

“Ah…” Theon bit his lip and struggled to focus on his burning, stinging back and ass instead. A snapshot flashed in his mind; _his_ blue lips. Even in prison, it still felt possible. It had to be.  _He’s just sleeping._  

“Do you understand what I want from you?” Ramsay said into his ear. He rubbed his nose in Theon’s hair.

Theon’s shallow breath sped up as his mind hopped from one horror to another in a vain effort not to get burned. “I don’t… have that knowledge.”

Ramsay snapped by the bridge of Theon's nose when he asked, “You what?”

“I can’t answer until you let go of my pinky finger.”

Ramsay froze and all the warmth in the room seemed to flee from him. “Why?” He wasn’t actually asking, just demanding the conclusion.

“I don’t want you to break it.”

Ramsay smiled again. “Are you trying to be funny, Theon?”

“Charming, I hope?” He grinned back.

Ramsay giggled the same unsettling way he had before and snapped Theon’s pinky back.

It cracked and Theon screamed. He tried to bury it in his chest and rolled onto his knees and elbows, wailing.

R-A-M was on the top of one cheek, and S-A-Y on the other. It made Ramsay’s hands tremble and cock jump with a rush of hot blood. He took Theon’s waist with both hands and yanked him closer.

“Please, please, please,” Theon squealed and gasped.

Ramsay’s fingers dug into the hollow flesh inside his hips. “Poor boy.” Engorged with bad blood, Ramsay was sure he suffered and loved even more than his precious plaything. “Give me your hand. I’ll set it in place.”

Theon jumped and hit his head on the guardrail, though Ramsay pulled him back in enough time to mitigate the impact. He squeaked and stammered unintelligibly in a ball on Ramsay's newly acquired silk sheets.

Ramsay giggled and fell onto the bed beside Theon to face him again. “Come on. Don’t be such a baby.”

He was shaking now. “I’m not!” His cracking voice, helpless red eyes, the snot running to his top lip; was all so sweet.

Ramsay extended his open hand. “Give it to me.” He watched Theon’s eyes darting around the small cell. “Are you going to try to fight me? Do you really feel up to it? You look like you’re trying not to cry.” He leaned forward to get closer and lowered his voice. “You know you deserve this, don’t you?”

“Wha-what? Deserve what?”

Ramsay threw his hand up, it was so wonderfully obvious. “Me!” Theon wilted and calmed down. He was so perfect, it was excruciating. “One was your brother, right?”

“I didn’t grow up with him or anything," Theon mumbled defensively, "… but, yeah.”

“Well, he was, like, forty and a horrible person,” Ramsay consoled him generously. "Greyjoy," Ramsay spat. "You're not really a fucking Greyjoy. You've always known. Everyone knows. I'm sure your drunk dad and junkie brother hated you for it. Not me." He made a grabbing motion with his extended hand. “Come on. It won’t get any better until you face the pain.”

Theon rolled his lips together and struggled to swallow. He winced and forced himself to offer his shaking hand.

He screamed when Ramsay pulled it back into place, but it really did feel better afterward.

"I want you on your stomach," Ramsay growled even though he was grabbing and shoving Theon face down onto the mattress already. He started loudly sucking in air to scream, but the scream didn't come. "It's ok, sweetie. I don't want to hurt you." Theon stammered around an incredulous 'Wh-wh-" until Ramsay lost patience and cut him off. "I want you to like it."

"Please, don't-"

"We'll go slow." He kissed the cellophane taped to Theon's back. "I'll be careful." He licked down Theon's bumpy spine. "You just give in. Forget everything else. Aren't there a lot of things you'd like to forget, Theon?"

"Yes," his small voice wobbled.

"Good. Do you understand what I want from you?" He pulled Theon's hips up, and gently pushed his lower back down. 

"I think so."

Ramsay held Theon down, holding his neck with one hand and reached between his shivering legs. Theon startled at the touch then softly moaned at the warm massage. "I want you to be my whore. Only me. Only ever me, whenever I want you." Ramsay felt Theon's muscles ease into melting.

He looked back at Ramsay, full of need. A hole sucking all of Ramsay in. "Me?"

"Yes, you. You're mine." Theon's dick throbbed harder and fuller in his hand.  _Perfect._


	13. Bandages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rest of their first night together isn't all bad.

“You like that?”

“No.”

“Being mine?”

“No!” But Theon’s prick bobbed up in Ramsay’s palm as blood rushed in to stiffen it.

Ramsay’s thick white fingers dove through ash brown waves. He grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled Theon closer by it.

One palm against soft sheets at a time, Theon pushed himself backward then up to his knees. His spine shuddered and tingled into arching.

Ramsay’s hot mouth brushed past his ear. “You feel faint?”

“N-no.”

Ramsay twisted Theon’s head around by his soft springy hair. His eyes glowed bright green against their shining red-tinged whites. “Are you swooning because you’re lovestruck?” Instead of a grin, Theon saw sharp canines hovering by his jugular.

“Hold onto me.” Ramsay guided Theon’s uninjured right hand to grip his thigh. It jerked away from the coarse hair on Ramsay’s concrete muscle.

Theon gasped and felt the drop. Everything was too real, immediate, every grotesque detail was inescapable. His adam’s apple hit the back of his throat then Theon fell into Ramsay’s chest and gripped his man’s thigh. Tips of Ramsay’s thick fingers pressed just under Theon’s jaw. He heard himself whimper and realized he could breathe with effort.

“Be good.”

Theon shivered. The sick fluttering twists in his stomach heated and filled his filthy prick.

“That’s it, precious-”

_“Please…”_

“- be a good boy.”

His eyes stung and blurred. As Ramsay started massaging his cock, Theon was suddenly guilty of excruciating pleasure. “Oh,” he barely rasped, “no.”

With the bridge of his nose and ridge of his forehead, Ramsay pushed Theon’s chin down toward his left shoulder. He released Theon’s neck and wrapped a constrictive arm around him,  pinning his elbows to his bony ribs. “Shh, do you want to be in trouble?” Ramsay’s voice was a low rumble so close to Theon’s ear, it could have originated in his head.

"No, please, wait! I can blo-” he was interrupted by two thick fingers sliding into his mouth.

“Show me.”

Theon choked on a whine.

Ramsay started pumping Theon's stiff dick into leaking. He began sucking. His stomach spun and started electrifying the rest of him until he was sucking with ache and need and thrusting into Ramsay’s hand.

“That’s a good boy.”

Another shiver rocked his faultline.

“You’re perfect.” Ramsay kissed his cheek and stared, though Theon tried not to see that in his dark periphery. The heat rising from Ramsay’s lap pressed against and between Theon’s cheeks. He pushed back into it, wanting more, wanting everything that made him nothing again.

“That’s my good boy. Rub your pretty ass on daddy’s cock.”

Theon whined around Ramsay’s fingers and took them more deeply into his mouth.

“Come for me.” Ramsay’s dexterous hand swiveled miraculously around the head of Theon’s cock then furiously pumped his shaft. “Come on, pet. Be a good boy for Master.” Ramsay bit slowly into the back of his neck.

Theon grabbed Ramsay’s thighs with both hands. Nothing hurt anymore but he was crying. His come shot out as an indictment; three spurts he couldn’t hide.

“That’s a good boy,” Ramsay purred and kissed his temple. He massaged Theon’s limp, sensitive, dick, making his thin legs twitch and his narrow hips buck like stutters as the rest of Theon’s muscles melted. “Good boy, Theon. You want to blow your Master, sweetheart?” He pulled his fingers from Theon's mouth.

Theon nodded.

“Hold on.” Ramsay unraveled his strong, warm body and pushed away from Theon who could only hold himself and shiver in Ramsay's bed.

Barely registering a sound, Theon had no idea how much time had passed or what that would mean when the mattress sank and Ramsay reappeared beside him.

Theon scratched at his shoulder and tried to swallow.

“Lay down. Time to clean your back and let it breathe.”

 

Ramsay removed the tape one rip at a time and cleaned the blood and ink with a warm, wet paper towel. He rubbed Aquafor onto the tight wounds. It felt cool because the tattoos were hot. It felt like care, because Theon’s body didn’t know any better.

After Ramsay applied the Aquafor his name, his hand rubbed the bottom of Theon’s ass to where it met the back of his legs until Theon's hips started rolling and jerking to stop.

He rubbed into Theon’s crack and watched his back arch to let his hand in. “Please, it hurts,” Theon plead weakly.

“It does?”

“Inside. Please…”

“What?” Ramsay found Theon’s hole and started rubbing circles into it.

“Please let me blow you?”

Ramsay smiled in dark of their cell. “Please, what?”

 

Theon was quick to crawl off the cot and onto the floor between Ramsay’s legs.

“Look at me. I want you to keep looking at me.”

  
Ramsay pet Theon and told him how good and pretty he was until he swallowed. Then he pulled Theon back into his bed and fell asleep with his happy limbs wrapped all around his new toy


	14. Old Scar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm 1,400 miles from home. Though I've edited this 4 times, I've had 6 hours sleep in the last 2 days. It may be a disaster. Let me know. 
> 
> Merry Xmas.

"Wake up.”

Theon inhaled sharply and raised his head. “What? What it is it?”

“Dream about me?”

Theon could just make out Ramsay’s form sitting by his head in the dark. He slowly extended a skeptical finger and poked Ramsay’s real and present hip. “Oh, shit.”

Theon covered his face and exhaled into his palms. The back of his shoulders felt badly sunburned and burned against the movements. His pinky and ass were still dully throbbing. “What?” he mumbled through his hands.

“Truth or dare?”

Theon slowly peeked out from his fingers. “Wha-what?”

“Truth. Or. Dare.”

It was still dark. The prison was still fairly silent. What time was it?

“Are you actually going to make me repeat myself?” Ramsay began to pet Theon, smoothing tangled waves out of his face. “I know you just woke up so I’ve been patient. Haven’t I? But now it’s beginning to feel like you’re just ignoring me. **Again**.” He gripped a fistful of hair and pulled it back to see Theon more clearly. Eye contact is essential to effective interpersonal communication.

“Were you under the unfortunate impression that I _liked_ you ignoring me?”

“No...”

“I had _thought_ I had made myself pretty clear.”

“Yeah-”

“Maybe you thought that, I don’t know, that you made me fucking crazy by being hard to get or some shit. Like, maybe I think that’s cute.”

“I-”

“But the thing is, I keep TELLING you to stop fucking ignoring me. So what am I supposed to think? That you’re… what? Stupid? No. You’re not stupid. I’ve already talked to you; sized you up. You’re certainly not as smart as _I_ am, but you are not fucking stupid. Let’s see then… I know you aren’t deaf or psychotic. I know that you speak English.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Maybe… I mean, fuck! The only explanation I can think of is you have actually been _ignoring_ me telling you _not to ignore_ me.”

“No.”

“That’s almost funny, right? Except that… being ignored _hurts_ me, Theon. It really does.”

“Truth!”

Ramsay let Theon’s hair go and threw up his hands. “Was that so fucking hard? Alright. Truth, huh? Pussy. Why do you draw flowers? The same flower over and over?”

Theon groaned. “It’s just a tattoo I liked- that I saw.”

“That you saw? Here?”

“Um. Yeah. It’s… the person is gone.”

“Did you fuck him?”

“No. Hey!” Theon sat up carefully, trying to inch away. “That’s, like, three questions!”

Ramsay smiled without much warmth.

“Truth or dare?”

Ramsay laughed. “Oh? Alright, killer. Dare.”

“Um…” Theon dragged his bottom front teeth across the inside of his upper lip. “I dare you not to call me that anymore.”

“Pft. That’s a terrible dare. Ok, sweetie,” Ramsay touched his heart. “I promise. Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“Who’s Robb?”

 _Robb?_ A tragedy of beautiful things that should have been. He was the Sun and Theon was Pluto; cold, small, not belonging but breaking into Robb’s spheres every now and then anyhow because he had nowhere else to go. “My friend. Or… he was.”

“Why was he-”

“Truth or dare?”

“Really? Ramsay stretched out and laid his legs over Theon’s. “Truth.”

“Why are you really here?”

“Because I killed people.”

“What?” They stared at one another a moment. Ramsay smiled sincerely now. Theon pulled the soft sheets up to his chest. “Who? Why?”

“Ha!” Ramsay pinched Theon’s nose and gave it a little shake. “One question at a time, you fucking question Nazi.”

“Don’t-” shoved out its way out of Theon before he could stop it.

Ramsay giggled. “Truth or Dare, bitch?”

Theon rubbed his eyes and sighed. “Dare.”

“Whoa! Big boy! Did you drop a pair?” Ramsay cupped Theon’s balls as if he were checking. Theon curled up and twisted away. “Easy! You’ll be embarrassed you were such chicken shit before. I dare you to stand up, say ‘Sieg Heil’ and give me a good salute.”

Theon tried to find and decipher more details in Ramsay’s dimly lit face. “Why?”

“It will fucking amuse me, that's why. You seem to have a button, Theon.” Ramsay jabbed a finger into Theon’s ribs over and over until he jerked, rolled, and half fell out of the bunk.

Theon sat up on the cold floor then slowly stood. “I don’t want to.”

Ramsay leaned to one side and whispered, _“That’s kinda the point.”_

“But… why? Why? Why is that the point?”

“It’s funny!”

Theon found his boxers crumpled where they had dropped on the floor. The back of his shoulders burned in dry cracks when he bent to pick it up and pull it on. “Truth,” he muttered.

“It doesn’t work that way.”

Theon inhaled deeply as he rose to his full height. “I can’t do it.”

Ramsay watched him wearing a tight, too-wide smile. “Why?”

"I am _not_ a fucking Nazi.”

“Hmm.” Ramsay sprang out bed causing Theon to flinch. His giggle crawled up Theon’s spine, made his arms itch, made him want to bash his own head in. “I think pussying out of a dare is worth quite a few truths. Your father runs the Iron Island ports.”

Theon’s shoulders sank. _Oh._ That’s what he wants. It was actually a relief.

“He and your uncles happen to be causing my father a lot of problems. Where is Euron?”

Theon sighed and dropped his chin. “I don’t know. I heard he went to Dragon...stone? Asshai? Honestly, I think he’s dead.” _I hope he is._

“You don’t know?” Ramsay came closer. Theon stepped back. “Are you fucking lying to me?”

“No,” Theon answered simply.

“What about that mute janitor? What about the drugs? Everyone knows Euron cuts tongues from-”

“He has his tongue.” Theon tried to cover his bare chest with his arms. “He’s deaf. He reads lips very well. He’s just some kid. But he’s from the islands… it made a good story.”

Ramsay frowned but seemed to cool. “Where do you get the drugs from then?”

“From a smuggler who didn’t want to push H. Neither did I. That’s all.”

“You got a stranger to trust you in prison when you’re not even a Kraken?”

“He isn’t either! We worked together in the kitchen and I caught onto what was happening with the ‘baking soda’ we received but never used. If I didn’t do it, someone much worse would have.”

“Fuck.” Ramsay started slowly pacing the tiny cell, lost in thought.

“He’s a really good guy. He just needs the money for this little girl. She’s sick.”

“Shut up.  I believe you. You’re not a Kraken. You’ve never been in a gang or more than a fist fight. Do you even know where your sister is?”

“Is she alive?”

Ramsay stopped suddenly. “Fuck me. You don’t know shit, do you?”

“I… if she is alive she’s probably hiding from Euron. Rodrik is in federal-”

“I know. I know where he is.”

Theon looked at his feet. His toenails were overgrown. He hated the hair on his knuckles and the top of his foot. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

“You’re… what?”

“Um,” Theon shrugged. “I don’t know. If you’re trying to take out my- Euron, I’ll do anything to help. You don’t hav-” Ramsay slammed into him, gripping Theon’s jaw with both hands. His thick fingertips pressed into the base of Theon’s skull, pulling him deeper into a famished, biting kiss.

Some pathetic noise escaped Theon when he pulled away.

“Why are you sorry?”

“I…” he searched his exhausted mind for a lie but found it barren. “I’m just never what anyone needs me to be.” He added, “I guess. I don’t know. It’s, like, four in the morning, I think.”

Ramsay pressed his forehead to Theon’s, still cupping his head with both hands.

Theon tried to inch away but his back hit another wall. The cell was so much smaller than Clegane’s… it had to be.

“Don’t worry, puppy. You’re still what I need.” Ramsay’s thumbs slid up and behind Theon’s ears. Theon grabbed his flexing milk white forearms and staggered around when Ramsay spun him through the dark and pushed him back. “Where are you really from?”

“I’m from Connecticut.”

Ramsay laughed and shoved Theon onto the bottom bunk. He pulled a box cutter he’d barely bothered to hide from under the top bunk’s mattress. “Where were you born? Where is your family really from?” He dropped next to Theon and grabbed his left wrist. “Look at this mess.” He lightly traced a raised bumpy white line down the inside of Theon’s arm. “So, tell me if I figured out what happened. You did this with a kitchen knife and that’s why you were in the psych unit and why you can’t work in the kitchen anymore? Right?”

Theon squeezed his eyes shut. “Yeah.”

“Right. Is that when lunch lady Seaworth took you under his wing? Well, I’m here now, baby. And I really, really, hate that scar on you. It’s not your fault. You’re not an artist like I am. I think I can fix it, though. Make it better. I like X’s.”

Theon’s bicep flexed when he tried to yank his arm back, but did little else. He’d been strung out for so long now, there was nothing to him. He didn’t stand a chance.

Ramsay dug the point of the blade into Theon’s golden brown skin. “Where is your family actually from, Theon?”

“Buenos Aires. But, I don’t think Euron would go back there. He’s probably in Colombia. In Barranquilla. That’s what my father always said.”

Pressure from the blade slowly eased as Ramsay squinted, trying to remember something. “Buenos… oh my gods. Argentina? Is that where you’re from? Argentina?”

“Ye-yeah. We moved around a lot.”

“Theon!” A bright grin split Ramsay’s face. “No! No fucking way! Don’t tell me- don’t you even fucking tell me- what is your last name, really? Do you know?”

Theon sprang up to sitting and shuffled away on his heels and elbows. “It’s Greyjoy,” he muttered hoarsely.

“BABY!” Ramsay dropped the blade. It bounced and spun once off the cement with a clink-clunk.

Theon’s face started burning. He forced his way past Ramsay who was laughing too hard to stop him and climbed up to his bunk, ignoring his sore pinky and angry shoulders as he pulled himself up and tried to hide under his flat pillow.

“Hey! Come on! Did I get it? Already? Again?”

Theon moaned into his hard mattress.

“Because you don’t _look_ Spanish.”

“Latino. You don’t even know what the fuck an Argen-”

“And you definitely don’t sit at the SunSpear table.”

"They hate Argentina! They think the whole country has an overblown ego and... You don’t know anything about it.”

Ramsay’s head popped up. His chin rested on Theon’s mattress. “When I look at you, Theon, if I had to guess -and why not?- I would say that your light brown hair,”

“Shut up.”

“- light blue-green eyes, your jaw, and that line you have, you know? Behind your mouth? I think all of that and the golden tone to your skin makes you look German. Am I right? Theon? Did I get it? Huh? Was it your grandparents or great-grandparents that fled to Argentina? Do you know who it was? Was it someone famous and horrible? Huh? Theon? You have to know your real last name right? ‘Greyjoy! Greyjoy! I’m Greyjoy! Call me Greyjoy! I’m not a fucking Nazi!’ It’s too good! Baby!” Ramsay sank down to his bunk and succumbed to another laughing fit.

Theon used the box cutter he stole to carve a smiling Jolly Roger into the cement block by his head.

Ramsay was still laughing when the lights came on.


	15. New Wound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon gets caught in a catch 22, then trapped even further.

_Rise and shine, inmates! Let’s go!_

 

High in Ramsay’s cold cell Theon sat up and pushed himself back into a corner. He watched Ramsay hop out of the bottom bunk and hum a tune to himself as he got dressed.

As soon as the door rolled open, Ramsay jogged out to slam into Damon who laughed and started rumbling happily about something Theon couldn’t make out.

Down the hall, Officer Hoat screamed at 82D. Theon scrambled to find Ramsay’s box cutter and shove it between the mattress and metal frame.

“Hey! Greyjoy! Move your ass!” Hoat’s long, hard frame blocked the open doorway.

“I’m sick,” Theon mumbled shaking his head.

“Get down, inmate.”

Hard bodies, more imposing than Hoat’s, swarmed passed. Their wide ambling gait, and puffed chests all said, _‘Give me a reason. Give me a fucking excuse.’_

“I can’t. I’m sick. I’m not hungry.”

“Refusing food again? You must miss Psych, Greyjoy.” Hoat coughed up a laugh and wrote something down on his pink pad.

“No, don’t! I can’t leave because they never brought me my shit, man! I don’t have my shirt, Hoat! I need it!”

“No shoes? You can’t leave the cell without shoes.”

“I know! That’s what I’m fucking telling you!”

“Insubordination.”

“What?”

“Now when you walk to the chow hall that will be strike three.”

“That doesn’t make any sense!”

“Strike one; refusing to eat, strike two; insulting a Correctional Officer, strike three; leaving the inmate's cell without proper footwear. It’s all for your own safety, inmate. Now get the fuck down.”

“Hoat! I don’t WANT to leave! If _not leaving_ is strike one how the fuck is _leaving_ strike three?”  

Hoat squeezed a button on the walkie talkie resting on his shoulder. “Greyjoy is resisting in 86D.”

“I’m not! Shit. Shit!”

“I’ll come back you up,” a voice replied.

“Please…”

“Get down or we will get you down.” Hoat grinned as he unsheathed his baton.

“Please, they can’t see me.” Theon tried to hide from everything in the shade of his palms. “They can’t see.”

“Greyjoy?”

He peered through the cracks between his fingers.

The little guard who worked in Medical stood just outside Ramsay’s cell and spoke with a soft, airy voice. “You’ll come down for me, won’t you? You don’t need to go back to Psych and we don’t want to send you there. Come on.”

They saw his back before he’d even touched the floor.

 

He was scheduled for Eval but someone in Administration got the Doctor’s dates wrong. He was in on the Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday of the last week of the month and besides, he was booked until February.

 

Theon was shuffled around and left in a cage of crisscrossing bars; the kind of dull greased metal that almost looked rubber. He waited like that through lunch without any food, without anyone looking him in the eye.

Dr. Stark wasn’t in medical. Theon didn’t ask.

The nurse, or whatever he was, gave Theon a Tylenol and sprayed his tattoos with something cool that smelled almost like minty lavender.

“Tattoos are not tolerated, inmate.” Officer Hoat dropped a signed form on Theon’s lap while the nurse applied a soothing ointment.

“Me?! **I** didn’t fucking do it! How _could_ I have?”

“More insubordination.” Hoat tsk-tsked and pulled out his pink pad.

Theon looked up at the quiet nurse. “Can’t you tell him?”

The guy sighed like he was really being put out and they all knew it was for nothing. He shrugged. “Of course he didn’t tattoo his back or… uh, backside."

Hoat burst out laughing.

Theon felt his face grow hot. It pissed him off that Hoat could embarrass him. Worse than embarass. Another sliver of himself to hate.

 

Existence in prison had been a Sisyphean cycle. In Ad Seg, it was a flat line.

He had tried to do yoga, push ups, pull ups, sit ups, the last three times he landed in Ad Seg. He seemed much younger then, but it was barely a year to a few months ago.

After his first stay in Ad Seg, Theon was compelled to find tricks for coping. He learned to do visualizations from Father Tarley when the screaming from Sweet Robin overwhelmed him.

He learned to try to dance when the pounding from Clegane’s brother started. They call him The Mountain. He’d probably never leave Ad Seg. He only seemed to grow stronger and worse inside it.

It was that second time in solitary confinement that got Theon in trouble. _Three_ motherfucking god damned weeks. It was too long, he could only think. Think and remember until the memories were real and Robb woke up that one time. Theon had seen it with his own eyes. But he wouldn’t say anything. He just stared until Theon became one of the screamers.

He had needed out more than any tomorrow, so Theon had stuffed his toilet until it clogged and overflowed. Wex had come to fix it. Theon had to wait silently in the hall while Trant looked at photos on his phone. He’d tapped his foot on the floor to get Wex’s attention then started signing.

That was when he made the mistake, another mistake, that set him back. Now, though, he just wanted to sleep and was able to do so most of the week.

Sometimes, he laid there and tried not to remember. Sometimes, he did anyway. He remembered the bodies and the cops all over Rodrik’s apartment. The way they impatiently asked questions and took notes. They way they looked bored and disappointed… disgusted, even by the boys Theon had killed.

Theon would wonder about the funerals and inevitably think about what might have been and all the moments he would change if he could.

By the end of the week, the room was shrinking. A cold blade could open things.

Theon started hiding under his bed, even though the guards didn’t like that. They didn’t understand that it made the room feel bigger. The room needed to have sections so he could travel.

“Well, you’re leaving,” the nice guard with the soft voice said. The patch on her chest was embroidered with POOLE. “You can travel back to your block, ok?”

“Leaving? It’s done?” Theon crawled out and tried to fix his hair.

“Well, somehow you got out early.”

“Early? How early?”

“Here are your sandals, let’s go.”

 

Theon came back covered in orange. Ramsay was waiting by the block gate, holding on to the bars and smiling. Nothing could stop the heavy door from rolling open.

“What happened?” Ramsay slung an arm around Theon’s shoulders and hurried them back to his cell.

“They- Hoat said that I refused to eat-”

“Well, why the fuck would you do that?” Ramsay laughed bitterly. “Are you just, I don’t know, trying to get away from me?” He shoved Theon inside and followed his stumble to the bottom bunk.

“No, man! Listen to me!” Theon cracked like a dry twig. “He said that not leaving was strike one and leaving was strike two because I didn’t have shoes but they didn’t bring ANYTHING to me and I had nothing but my boxers! They wouldn’t let me- Trant wouldn’t let me! Then he said that, the tattoos, but I couldn’t- I didn’t do it! But they didn’t care and he said I refused food,” Theon found he was crying in the middle of his babbling and curled up to heave and cough up his weeping.

Ramsay knelt in front of Theon and lightly pet his messy hair. “Why didn’t you call for me?”

Theon choked his way to stopping and slowly looked up. “Wh-what?”

“Why didn’t you call for me? I was in the hallway. I would have helped you. Do you understand?”

“You… you would? Do-do you believe me? I didn’t…”

“Shhh. I’m taking care of you now. Understand?”

“I…” Theon did not understand at all. “You are? You don’t…”

Ramsay smiled a warm smile that went all the way up to his expressive eyes. It was just for Theon. It made no fucking sense. “I don’t hate you, stupid.”

Theon tried to swallow but his throat was full of the pain pushing through him.

Ramsay pulled Theon’s shirt off then helped him to bed, kissing and softly cooing at him until Theon wrapped his arms around Ramsay’s neck and started weeping. Ramsay took Theon onto his lap and wrapped his arms around Theon’s shoulders and bony back.

“Shhh, that’s a good boy.” He stroked the back of Theon’s head and Theon sank harder and deeper into his chest.

It didn’t even occur to Theon that people were walking by and the door was, of course, open. Other people faded into abstraction.

“They all hate me. They’ll always hate me.”

“Not me. Fuck everyone else. They don’t matter, do they?”

“N-no. Only you.” Theon started calming. His shaking muscles eased into surrender.

“Good boy, sweetie. That’s right. Only me. That’s my good boy.”

Ramsay was warm and Theon was exhausted.

He pried his way into Theon mouth with two white fingers and inhaled deeply when Theon started sucking. _Wonderful._ Ramsay kissed and gently bit the ears that stuck out to hear him as he withdrew his fingers. His wet fingers snaked around and down behind Theon.

Theon gasped and held tighter. “Please… what if…”

“No one can tell what I'm doing. They're all just passing us by. No one will take you away from me.”

Whining and shivering, his fingers digging into Ramsay’s back, Theon squeezed and pressed closer, slid into a god-shaped hole. _“Oh…”_

“It’s ok.” Ramsay crooked both fingers and started massaging. He pressed his cheek to Theon’s so that his ear was right next to Theon’s soft whimpers.

“Oh, _oh fuck,”_ Theon panted. He suddenly dug his wet eyes into the crook of Ramsay’s neck. “Ah- oh god... oh god!”

“Shhh. People are coming, baby.”

“Oh my fucking god-”

“It’s ok, precious.” Ramsay licked his full lips and used his free hand to release the erection Theon couldn’t wish away. Ramsay wrapped his free arm around Theon, who started rubbing his weeping prick into the thick black trail of hair widening away from Ramsay’s belly button.

“Fuck, I can’t,” Theon whispered against Ramsay’s neck.

“Go on. You're perfect. I want to keep you just like this, always.”

Theon wrapped both legs around Ramsay’s waist and started riding his thick fingers, rutting against his hard stomach. The tears just hung in Theon’s eyes without stinging.

“Call for me now.”

 _“Ramsay,”_ Theon gasped.

“No."

"N-n-oo?"

"I think you know what to call me now. Just whisper it in my ear.”


	16. Cold Blade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet Skinner
> 
> Theon decides to meet a friend for lunch.

Skinner hooked his fingers under his thick red laces and pulled. Hooked and pulled, hooked and pulled, until the shiny black leather was tight around his feet and ankles. He stood and smoothed his crisp collared shirt. His mirror was crooked. Was it? Just a little but he fixed it.

“Kenny?”

“What?”

“Kenny?” His grandma called out the front door.

He saw his square jaw flex in the mirror and pressed his lips together. The fade on his buzz cut was perfect. He was ready. “Yeah? What?”

“I got called in is what. You ok for supper?”

Skinner frowned and grabbed his grandfather’s army jacket from his dresser. “You were gonna iron this for me!”

“Well, Jackie is back in the hospital so I gotta take her shift. I missed three days last month on account of pneumonia. I can’t fuck around.”

Skinner pounded up the basement stairs and caught her leaving the kitchen. “But I’m still on unemployment AND I’m making money at the shop. My apprenticeship is almost over. Then I’ll have _two_ good jobs. Tell them to fuck off.”

“Honey, the plant ain’t taken’ back thems they laid off again. That place is closing in the summer.”

“But it’s been here forever.”

“Well? It’s always there til it ain’t. They ain’t renewed the lease yet, have they?”

His father worked there, his grandfather worked there. They supported large families and their wives stayed home. Well, until his dad was laid off and taken back seasonally. Then he got sick. Everyone in town knew someone who worked at the plant. Now-

“It’s going to India or… Mexico… or some shit. You should work at Walmart with me.”

“With those-” Skinner stopped himself. “It will work out, Ma.” He kissed his grandmother’s cheek.

“You look just like him.” She touched the patch reading SKINNER on her late husband’s jacket. “Lean cuisine’s in the freezer.”

“Yeah, alright.”

 

He found Big Charlie in the parking lot, smoking with the guys. “There he is!” He waved Skinner over and shoved Patrick toward the tailgate to fetch them some beers.

 

It wasn’t real until he broke the window, then there was no going back. Skinner smiled and kicked at the shards. They crunched under his boots when he lowered himself to the floor. He found himself in a small, unassuming office and, for a sickening moment went ice cold thinking he’d made a mistake.

He shook his head and yanked the 50 gallon can against the muddy ground outside until the gas rushed against his fist and it fell at his feet. The hose popped out and started leaking, so fuck it. He’d just start the trail here.

Using his elbow and back, Skinner pushed through the office door. He swayed the heavy red plastic from side to side then stopped his backward march to squint at the floor.

He bent to get a closer look at the intricate design, which almost seemed to shine in the faint white glow of two emergency lights.

“It’s so symmetrical,” he marveled.

He slowly turned and dropped the can. White arches unfolded before him in a neat octagon supporting a high dome. The delicate interweaving detail, the geometric harmony, the clean, refined colors, all made his heart race. _An artist made this._

The enormity of years of mistakes couldn’t be undone or even faced, so he inverted his perceptions and feelings. His heart pounded through Skinner’s shaking hands, but he wouldn’t be seduced and dutifully struck a long stemmed match.

 

A bell clinked, without merriment when Skinner walked into the Waffle House sometime after midnight. The forest green carpet under his muddy boots was soiled black in some places and worn white in others.

“Skinner!” Big Charlie called. “You’re famous, bro!” He held up his smart phone so Skinner could hear the news reporter. A flaming dome was in a box just over her shoulder.

Kylie and Robbie started clapping and barking.

“Wow,” Patrick tried to join in awkwardly. “You still smell like gas and everything. You think they’ll all leave now?”

“Shut up and give him that baggie. The man needs to celebrate,” Big Charlie declared, cutting into his fried chicken.

Skinner grinned. His back straightened.

Patrick stood reluctantly. “It’s in my truck. Don’t, uh, don’t you think that old bitch waitress has been-”

“Go, Patrick!” Skinner shouted suddenly then shoved toward the door.

Big Charlie laughed then the other guys did; shoving each other and slapping the table. Another drink spilled but it didn’t matter.

 

***

Skinner was shoving whites into the industrial dryer when he heard one squeak and then another. He frowned and marched out of the laundry room to see what the fuck was making that noise.

He was delighted to see Euron’s tight-lipped drug runner with only a squealing cart to protect him.

“Hello, little squid. I hear you won’t talk to anyone but Theon," Skinner said.

Wex stopped and looked back over his shoulder then slowly turned to face him.

“I bet you’ll talk for me.”

  


Theon woke up confused, with heavy limbs wrapped around him.

“Ramsay?” Alyn repeated impatiently.

Ramsay inhaled deeply and stretched his arms and legs then pulled himself up to sitting. “What?” He crossed his legs over the small of Theon’s back.

Theon felt maybe he should pretend to sleep, but couldn’t close his eyes.

“It’s almost time for dinner.”

“So?”

“Well…”

“Don’t talk to me from the doorway, Alyn.”

Alyn frowned and took three resolute steps into Ramsay’s cell, then suddenly decided that was enough. “That Kraken guy didn’t talk.”

“What? The janitor?”

“Yeah, so Skinner-”

“Of course, he didn’t!” Ramsay laughed.

“Yeah, _I know,_ but Skinner, I think didn’t know that. He was, like… kind of like…” Alyn shook his head in frustration and crossed his arms. “You know. So the kid had an accident.”

Ramsay rolled his eyes and snorted. “Well? How bad? Is he a stiff or what? Was Skinner caught?”

“No, no. Nothing like that. You know that gate to Admin by the laundry room? The one that always sticks?”

Ramsay giggled. “Uh huh.”

“He tried to pull it from the wrong side, with both hands. So… he’s not gonna work here anymore.”

“Or anywhere, shit. Where’s Skinner?”

“Delivering laundry.”

“Where is the janitor?”

Alyn took a step back, feeling the conversation was wrapping up. “Probably in Medical.”

Hoat was yelling about dinner time downstairs.

“Alright.” Ramsay dug his thick fingers into Theon’s soft, unruly hair and gave his scalp a little scratch. “Common, puppy.”

Theon turned to look up at Ramsay over his shoulder. “I can’t… I can’t go out there,” he murmured in a dry voice.

“Just stay close to me. Everyone will know not to touch you.”

Theon’s stomach twisted as he shook his head. _They can’t see me like this._ “My stomach hurts. I…”

Ramsay’s voice dropped, closer and lower. “I’m not asking.”

 

No one stopped them to give Theon a demerit. He tried only to see his bare feet and hear nothing but the song in his head. His lips twisted at the lyrics a bit.

Ramsay threw a squeezing arm around Theon’s shoulders and lead him toward the Aryan’s table.

"I have to go..." Theon mumbled suddenly. He broke away before he really knew what he was doing and started walking faster and faster to medical.


	17. Pierce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon visits an old friend and has lunch with his new ones.

Theon managed to slip into the lunch rush, weaving in and out of bodies much harder and broader than his own. Some sweaty Dothraki asshole almost grabbed Theon’s shoulders as he shoved past, scraping against the wall, but the man gasped and threw his hands up and backed away, like Theon was a leper.

He could hear Ramsay’s fast, heavy steps behind his right shoulder, but didn’t pause to look behind him. He kept walking as fast as he could, as casually as he could, down the long hallway.

 

“I have to see Wex!” He demanded.

No one in the chaotic Med unit seemed to hear him so Theon invited himself past through the swinging, waist high, double doors by the guard’s desk. Three people crowded around the closest gurney.

“They’ll be here soon,” a sweet voice said.

“He’s out,” the cute nurse mumbled. He sounded annoyed again.

“Dr. Stark?”

She glanced over her shoulder.

Theon smiled.

“Get him out of here.” She turned back and started pumping the blue bulb in her hand then slid her stethoscope into her ears.

“Come on,” the heavy guard said with the same sad look he had before. Maybe no one was changing but Theon. Even Dr. Stark was still here, still working, wiping her forehead on her shoulder.

“Please, he’s my friend.”

The grumpy nurse swept his dark hair out of his dark eyes and bit his tongue indecisively.

“Get out, Greyjoy,” nurse Reed called from the foot of the bed. She had a phone in one hand. “They’re here. They’re here now.”

“Alright. Someone’s letting them in?” Dr. Stark frowned. “80 over 50.”

The nurse nodded and wrote the numbers down.

Theon crept closer and saw Wex’s nimble, able hand laying lifeless on bloodstained sheets. His fingers were mangled beyond recognition, surely, Theon realized against his will, beyond repair. “Oh god, oh god…” It looked fake. “It’s fake.”

 

_“R-rr-” Theon was shaking so hard, he was bound to shake apart and fall to writhing pieces. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. He was fine just twenty minutes ago. He just blinked a minute ago, didn’t he? “Robb?” But already he didn’t look like Robb. He looked like a wax figure in Robb’s place. A fake. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. It wasn’t real. He hadn’t really woken up._

 

“Theon?”

“What?” Theon jumped back and stumbled into nurse Reed’s desk. He dropped to his knees and puked into her trashcan.

He didn’t recognize the black shit that came out of his stomach. When was the last time he ate? This wasn’t real life. People have to eat in real life.

Nothing hurt. Nothing mattered.

“Get up!” Alyn yanked his arm until he was standing. “You can’t do this shit.”

“What’s he gonna do, Alyn? He’s going to lose them! He needs his fucking hands! He can’t-”

“Shut. Up.”

“Get out,” the sad guard insisted.

Alyn shoved Theon back into the hallway.

Theon whipped around to shove a shaking finger in Alyn’s face. “Fuck you. Fuck you! **Fuck-** ”

The world spun as the sound of a smack registered. He stumbled back into the wall.

Alyn grabbed him by the shoulders and shook. “LISTEN!” He held Theon still and waited for Theon to focus. “Do _not_ try to fight me.”

“Oh?” Theon grinned. He couldn’t help it. “Why the fuck not Alyn?”

_“I told you.”_

“What?”

“I HAVE. A. ANGER. PROBLEM.”

“AND _I_ SAID F- wait… what?” Theon eased back, as much as Alyn’s grip would allow and squinted suspiciously “Really?”

Alyn took a deep breath.

“Like… it’s a problem?”

Alyn released Theon and shoved him down the hall toward their gate. “I can’t stop. It goes bad.”

Theon glanced over his shoulder. Alyn wasn’t staring back. He was just looking at his feet.

Theon scratched the back of his head. “That sounds fucking awful. You… like, make mistakes and shit? You know; really bad ones?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh. Is that why you’re here?”

“Yeah.”

What do you say about that? “That sucks.”

“Yeah.”

 

People stopped talking, then voices dropped when Alyn and Theon approached the Aryan table. Theon covered his chest with both arms and wished he could cover his back.

The murmur around them slowly built back up to its usual volume. Every laugh seemed to somehow be aimed at Theon and pierced him painfully.

“Ew, he’s sick.” Damon pulled his tray closer when Theon sat down across from him.

Ramsay gazed at his uneaten food and tapped his racing fingers on the table.

“He was in medical puking.”Alyn stole Ramsay’s sandwich.

Ramsay’s eyes slid over to Alyn. “Help your fucking self, buddy.”

Alyn smirked and kept eating.

“Ramsay gave him AIDS.” Damon informed the table matter-of-factly.

Alyn frowned. Skinner snorted. Joffrey and the jaundiced man who stole Theon’s old cell started laughing. Ramsay’s thick fingers tapped faster as his jaw squared.

Looking around the chow hall, he saw all his friends quickly look away as soon as their eyes met. Like… like, they didn’t know him? No, worse. Like they they felt sorry for him but it wasn’t their fucking problem.

Lucky Jack looked away. From three tables down, Grey Worm shook his head and looked away. Blackwater looked away and stood up with his tray. Manderly appeared alarmed when Theon looked at him and quickly went to the back with some dishes.

What was it? He didn’t want to know even though he needed to and he felt he already knew anyway. Theon saw the back of Satin's golden head a few tables down. He was sitting with his two friends at the only otherwise empty table in the chow hall. Then Theon realized he knew what everyone was doing because he had done the same thing.

He numbly looked around for unwanted food he might eat while the table talked around him

Alyn stared at Theon then pointedly looked at Ramsay, and back at Theon, then he frowned like he was saying, “See what you did?”

That’s what Asha would do when he set their father off by talking too loudly, running around too much… making himself known, really.

Theon tried to find his voice. “I’m sorry.”

Ramsay turned to look at him. “What?”

“I got sick.”

Ramsay’s clear grey eyes didn’t move away or reveal anything.

“Um, I don’t know. I’m… sorry.” Theon shrugged and lowered his gaze but he could still _feel_ Ramsay smile.

Theon flinched when Ramsay moved but when he opened his eyes, Ramsay was only offering him the other half of his sandwich.

The whole table seemed to relax and start talking at once.

“I got 5 boxes of _cleaning supplies._ That was my point, asshole.”

“What did Trant say about the other two?” Ramsay asked.

Theon looked from the food to Ramsay’s cold eyes and back again before slowly extending his hand. That seemed to make Ramsay grow warmer.

“Never came, he said.”

“Bullshit.” Alyn spat.

“Thank you,” Theon said softly. He tried to remember the last time anyone had given him something, to quell feelings he didn’t want. There had to be lots of times…

“It’s coming Monday,” Theon caught Skinner reporting happily. “And the worm will be on the hook tonight.”

Damon grinned. “Sunspear is two weeks behind.”

“Careless,” Ramsay sighed. “Carelessness can lead to accidents.”

“Fuck yes, it can.”

Skinner leaned forward, searching for Ramsay’s attention. “The Hoard paid me on time, in full. I made fucking sure of that.”

Theon snorted and tried to eat to hide his grin.

“Something funny, bitch?”

“A little funny.”

Skinner frowned. _“What?”_

“Nothing. Just… you’re serving these mud people, or whatever you call them. So that’s kind of funny.”

Skinner retracted and grabbed his tray. “I’m not- I’m making money for my family off their slow demise.” He looked to Ramsay for help.

“That’s right.” Ramsay laid a heavy hand on Theon’s crown and scratched his hair. “He’s just thinking like a fucking junkie. Don’t take it so seriously, Skinner.”

Skinner scanned the table apprehensively. “What’s really funny is seeing those horse-eaters turn blue and get carted away. They’re so damn stupid! You tell them the batch has killed people and they pay _more_ for it! Fucking apes.” He wasn’t laughing, though; he didn’t seem capable of it.

“What’s _really_ funny is a Nazi covering himself in black tattoos to say how great his white skin is.”

Skinner dropped his tray and froze, bent where he had been standing.

Damon burst out laughing but pulled Skinner close and patted his back.

Ramsay poked his tongue into his cheek and bit it to keep from giggling as Joffrey spat and stuttered. “Hey!” He snapped his fingers high above his head and waved someone over. “Dick is bringing shit back to your cell.”

The man with yellow-tinted skin was laughing with Damon. He looked high over Ramsay’s shoulder and gave a thumbs up.

“Right. Fine. Here.”

Theon looked up and up and found Sandor standing right there, slipping Ramsay money. He stared until his lips parted and his jaw dropped.

The Hound seemed to look right through him, then left like it was nothing. Like the last few weeks (had it even been a month now?) were nothing. Theon watched him walk away, dump his garbage in the trash, put his tray on the wet racks, and simply leave.

“What?”

Theon slowly turned to face Ramsay beside him, feeling more leaden and absent than before. “What?” he asked back.

“Why are you staring? Did you think we killed him?”

Theon looked around nervously for guards. “I don’t… no. I didn’t.”

“Then what the fuck are you staring at?” Ramsay snorted and smirked a little. “Gods, you didn’t…” Ramsay grimaced in mock sympathy. “Did you really think he was your… friend?” Ramsay giggled.

Skinner relaxed.

“No,” Theon muttered. “Of course not.”

“Skinner here is a true believer. What the fuck do you believe in? He has brothers here to fight for him. Who fought for you? No one; that’s who. Not any Kraken shithead, no famous uncle, not **that** ugly giant prick; _no fucking one.”_

Ramsay wrapped an arm around Theon and leaned closer. “Do you know what he told me when you were nodding off, all blissed out in his cell?”

Theon couldn’t answer or look away.

 _“He said I’d have to pay him for it.”_ Ramsay slammed both hands on the table and stood. “Let’s go.” He grabbed a fistful of Theon’s hair and pulled him stumbling back to make him follow.

The whole table stood when Ramsay did. The sound made Theon sick.

“I’ll get you something from the commissary,” Skinner called. “I’ll bring it to your cell!”

“Give me two hours,” Ramsay answered.

“No touching, inmates!” Hoat put a hand up to stop them at the gate.

Theon released Ramsay’s wrist and he let go of Theon’s hair.

 _“Martel is a problem,”_ Officer Hoat said under his breath.

“I heard. I’ll find a solution,” Ramsay offered cheerfully.

 

Davos watched Bolton shove Greyjoy through the gate, saw the markings on his back.

“Do you remember the last time you tried to help that boy?” Manderly said, light and friendly as ever.

Davos grumbled an inarticulate response and slid his chopping knife into the filthy sink.


	18. Fresh Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A talk after lunch.
> 
> Meet Ramsay.

Not many people came upstairs, much less to the end of row. Theon could hear inmates playing poker in D Block’s common area below.  They were laughing a lot without him. It was easy to hear their voices but maddeningly hard to make out any words. He kept thinking maybe he heard his name...

“Who are you looking for?”

Theon hesitated to look back, over his shoulder. “I’m not. I was just-”

“Theon,” Ramsay clawed into Theon’s hair and jerked him back. Sharp metal dug painfully into the side of Theon’s neck, under his jaw. Theon pressed back into Ramsay’s chest in a vain effort to shrink away from the deepening puncture.

“Do you know how easy it would be to kill you right now?” Ramsay said softly. His bottom lip brushed against Theon’s earlobe. “It’s not even easy. It’s actually a matter of _not_ killing you. Your jugular keeps beating against my blade.” Ramsay rubbed the bridge of his nose along Theon’s cheekbone. His left hand slid up to caress and grab his toy’s soft mess of hair.

Theon exhaled and dissolved into limp acceptance and worse, he knew that Ramsay felt it too.

“I really like having you around, Theon.” Ramsay leaned over Theon’s shoulder to look at his sea green eyes, though he kept staring blankly ahead. “I don’t want you to go back to Psych-”

“No-”

“... but I worry about you. You’re so confused, Theon. Almost like you’ve lost touch with reality. You’re so _self-destructive_.”

The threat unveiled itself to Theon in a horrifying flash. “Please don’t. Please.”

“The real trick would be to make it look convincing enough to be taken seriously-”

_“Please.”_

“- without actually killing you. But,” Ramsay shrugged, “slitting your own throat is a pretty fucking serious attempt, even if it is shallow. Don’t you think? People usually do a few practice strokes. They’re called hesitation marks. You have one next to that fucking mess on your forearm. Did you hesitate, Theon?”

Theon blinked his stinging eyes. “Yes.”

“Maybe you were holding out hope that you could still meet me?” Ramsay grinned.

He could be laughing at Theon, or…

Ramsay slowly dragged the blade, what felt like, two inches. _“Weren’t_ you?”

“Yes,” Theon said hoarsely.

“I knew you were!” Ramsay slipped away, allowing Theon to sink down to the cold concrete, grabbing his neck. “Oh, please. It’s just a knick,” Ramsay said behind him.

He came around and sat on the floor, facing Theon so that they’re knees touched. “Look.” He thrust something forward, into Theon’s chest. “See?”

Theon opened his eyes, and uncovered his face. Warm, sticky blood trickled down his neck to his collar bone. He remembered the coppery smell overwhelming him that day in solitary. “My sketch pad?” Theon studied Ramsay’s bright face then flipped through his drawings. He stopped at a collage and held the pad out at arm's length, hoping Ramsay would take it away, yet unable to stop staring.  “Oh.”

“Remember? I told you I found you on Wikipedia? When I was looking up this shit hole jail my friends ended up in?”

“Uh... huh.”

Cut out photos of Theon were taped to the page. Bleach blond hair with roots growing out, sunglasses in the courthouse halls, unironed ill-fitting thrift store button ups with thousand dollar jeans, and a cocky grin in every picture. “I don’t- I don’t want to see.”

“Not one for reminiscing?” Ramsay snatched the sketch pad back and giggled.

“What… what the fuck do you want from me?”

 

***

 

“Father!” Ramsay smiled pleasantly. He’d smoothed his suit the instant the doorknob twitched. “Well fuck me, you do care, after all.”

Roose stood by the door after it was shut behind him, expressionless as ever. “Are you _trying_ to ruin me?”

“What do you mean?” Ramsay lifted his cuffed hands innocently. The chain ran through a D-ring on the table in front of him. “Guess what I found out?”

Roose closed his eyes a moment, clearly uninterested. “You were convicted. You know what that means; you’re a mere liability now.”

“Greyjoy.”

_“What?”_

“Theon Greyjoy. Balon Greyjoy’s only living child. He’s at Firell Unit. Damon says-”

Roose sighed.

Ramsay’s charming smile became tighter. “Damon says the Aryans used to run Alyn’s unit, but the Targaryen shit head running it was offed by some horsefuckers.”

“This ‘drunk driving’ stunt was about your… _friends?”_

“I’m not allied with anyone.”

“I should have bribed your whore mother to have an abortion. Better late than never, perhaps.”

Ramsay bared his sharp teeth. “I love how we can joke like this.”

“Balon Greyjoy is dead. I’ll see you in ten years, or your corpse in thirty.” Roose turned to leave but hadn’t raised his hand to touch the doorknob when Ramsay shot up.

“FINE!” Ramsay jumped up. “I’ll see the fucking psychiatrist and go to rehab.”

“And?”

“I’ll be convincing.”

“And?”

“I’ll leak that bullshit about my ‘abusive alcoholic’ mother to HuffPo.”

“And?”

_“What?!”_

“Do an interview with your half brother.” Roose always relished adding that _half_.

“Seven fucking Hells.” Ramsay tried to cross his arms over his chest, forgetting his bondage. He slammed both hands on the table. “Ten years? Yeah, right. By the time I’m done charming the cum out of the jury it will be half that. I am an outstanding asset, not a gods damned liability.”

Ramsay relaxed and leaned back.  First, I can convince the warden to run clinical trials for PSIers, on people with virtually no rights, by the way. Second, I can ally myself with some fucking gangs, since that’s what you’re always up my ass to do. Third, I can get information from Greyjoy and use him as leverage. So here’s what will happen; I’ll get the minimum and be out on parole in two years. I’ll go to rehab and cry about my traumatic childhood, which you had _nothing_ to do with, and paint you as my fucking savior, alright? Is that what you want? I only look more human and relatable and you’ll look like a humble hero. Like the Grinch when his heart grew. You end up safer, richer, and liked better while I'm suffering. You're welcome.”

Roose approached the table but remained standing. “Why did you do it?”

Ramsay made a show of rolling his eyes. “Fuck! I’m an idiot, is that what you want? I’m in my mid-twenties, I need to grow up, I’m reckless and **such** a gods damned burden on you-”

“Ramsay.”

“People drive drunk. They have accidents.”

“People do.”

Ramsay’s smile lost all its light. " _I’m_ a people,” he muttered.  

“Hmph. If you make parole, I’ll come pick up. Call myself or Petyr if anything else works out for you. I’d be terribly impressed, Ramsay.”

 

***

 

“Easy!” Ramsay answered. “I want you to tell me where the Kraken shipments are coming in and I want to tell me while I fuck you.”

Theon watched Ramsay’s hands slid up his knees and nodded without looking up.

Ramsay pushed him back with a deep kiss and crawled over him. “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Good boy.”

Under Ramsay, Theon sagged against the floor. His eyelids drooped. He gasped when Ramsay licked the trail of blood gently seeping down his neck. He held onto Ramsay’s shoulder blades moaned through gritted teeth when Ramsay worked him open.

“That’s better, isn’t it?” Ramsay whispered.

 _“Yes.”_ Theon winced and writhed when Ramsay entered him, but soon he started humming and opened his eyes to stare with need into Ramsay’s.

“How are the Krakens getting their shipments inland?”

“They go up the river to Locke Cailin.”

“Ha!” Father had never considered that. “Good boy, Theon.”

“Please,” Theon slid his twitching hands down to Ramsay’s waist. “I don’t want to think anymore.”

“I know,” Ramsay said softly. He started thrusting slowly, gently. “You’ve been thinking about horrible things, haven’t you?”

Theon swallowed. “I’ve been remembering… I don’t want to.”

Ramsay kissed Theon’s forehead. “You shouldn’t. Not unless I tell you to. I don’t like it, Theon. I fucking _hate_ it.”

“Uh-w-what?”

“You think I didn’t see you? Looking at everyone but ME? You ran to Medical to see your little fucking broken friend? Didn’t you? Huh?!”

“Wait! Please, stop, please. You’re hurting me. I didn’t-”

“Did you fuck him?”

“Who? Wex? No! Of course not!”

Ramsay smiled then plunged to the side and sprang back up with the box cutter in his right hand. He pulled out and flipped Theon onto his stomach. His chin hit the concrete, making his jaw chatter. “What about Clegane?”

“Um…” Theon’s mind failed him. He couldn’t answer a question he was unable to ask himself.

“If you don’t want to go back to Psych, you have to be quiet so no one hears and still so no one finds the scars.”


	19. Razor's Edge

Ramsay jumped up Theon’s back, yanked Theon's right arm, and wove his leg around to trap it by Theon’s side. He sat on Theon’s shoulders and grabbed his left arm. “If you scream, or yell, or cry too loud, a guard will come. As soon as I hear boots coming toward us, I toss the box cutter and I say I wrestled the it out of your hand.”

“Please, don’t,” Theon whispered. 

“I like ‘please’ better than ‘don’t’. You should keep begging. Make it pretty. I might even change my mind.”

“What are you doing?” Theon whined, frustrated that he couldn’t push Ramsay off or pull his arm free. The pressure on his chest made it hard to fill his lungs. “Please, stop.”Ramsay turned and twisted his arm until Theon’s wrist was in his lap. Theon groaned and kicked at the concrete floor with his bare feet. _“Please, please, you’re breaking my shoulder!”_ he rasped.

“No, I’m not. **Listen**. Are you listening?”

_“Yes!”_

“You think Clegane would piss on you on a Sunday morning if you were burning to death?”

Theon didn’t quite follow the metaphor but knew the answer regardless. “No.”

“He doesn’t like you. He’s _disgusted_ by you. They all are.”

Theon gasped and grunted when Ramsay sliced into his forearm. It was fast, and the surprise numbed some of the sting. Still, he felt his warm blood oozing down his arm in two thick, lazy trails. He knew he was losing his last iota of control.

“You're right,” Theon said without thinking or feeling. “I’m sorry. I just- was lost-confused.”

“Do you think you can whore yourself out to get another knife? Huh? Make another attempt, like this scar I’m fixing? Maybe you're looking for someone to take me out?”

"No! I never even thought about that!"

Ramsay smiled to himself and made a second stroke through the center of the first. “Well then, maybe you just don’t understand. I don’t **want** to be cruel, sweetheart. It’s for your own good. _Stay still._ We want nice straight lines.”

“What are you doing?”

“Making sure you **remember** that everyone else _**hates**_ you. You said D Block was for ‘badasses’ once and you looked like you believed it. I bet you tell yourself lots of little stories like that. Open your eyes, Theon. This is a fucking day spa. It’s daycare for rich, well-connected fuck ups and special cases like you; people who need protection for one reason or another. You’re not here because you’re a fucking Kraken prince, drug dealing, gang leader. _Stop jerking._ You’re being babysat here because you're despised and defenseless and some Fed agent or ATF Narc may need you intact enough to answer questions if your uncle is ever put on trial. You’re on special detail with spoiled pussies and broken down has-beens and you _still_ had to whore yourself out in between drawing your fucking flowers?”

“I didn’t! Please, please, stop. What are you doing to me? Why?”

“Why?!” Ramsay almost stabbed his thin arm instead of making the final line, but he took a deep breath and finished instead then admired his work. “Much better. What an artist I am.” Ramsay smiled and relaxed.

Theon had lost enough blood to become limp and docile. He whimpered softly, warming Ramsay’s heart. “Look at this,” Ramsay said gently. “We’re both fucked if they find us. How could you? How the fuck could you want Clegane?”

“I don’t!” As dizzy and hopeless as he felt, Theon was still terribly offended by the idea. “How could you think that?!”

“Then… what? You wanted to make a deal? For drugs?”

“No! I didn’t even say anything! I didn’t-” Theon swallowed the horrible thing he was realizing with a painful gulp.

Ramsay released his tangled limbs and flipped Theon onto his back so that they faced each other again. “What? Tell me or tell some med school dropout in Psych for the next three weeks.”

Tears pooled around Theon’s eyes. He was more disgusted with himself than anyone else could ever be. It was almost comforting to know. “I didn’t want you to…” Maybe it was a mix of fatigue, withdrawal, and disorientation, or maybe Then just broke, but he felt exhausted weeping coming over him like a waterfall pelting his face and chest. “... give me back. Like…” but he couldn’t finish or even think anymore.

Ramsay dove into a frantic kiss, grabbing Theon’s jaw with both hands. He rolled his forehead across Theon’s and bit Theon’s lower lip. “Did he hurt you, baby?”

Theon grinned like it was a joke, which was absurd as hiding behind a spider web. “It… it wasn’t anything.”

“Oh, baby." Ramsay pet his face gently. "Poor little boy. I understand now. I forgive you, precious.”Ramsay began to lube himself with Astroglide and blood.

Theon hid his face in his red-stained hands, but Ramsay pushed them away like he was opening a curtain to see the sunshine and kissed Theon sweetly. He worked with prods and sharp thrusts to force his way inside then sighed with relief. Theon was here. Right _here,_ connected to him, feeling every move he made, paying attention to Ramsay and  ** _only Ramsay._**  When he pulled back to relish the sight, he noticed Theon’s lips were stained red from the kiss. Ramsay grinned.

“Hey, I- oh.” Skinner stopped at the entrance to their cell and looked away, but not really. “I’ll just leave these.”

“Be a buddy,” Ramsay said quite naturally, without looking away or stopping, “watch the hallway for me.”

“Sure. You have smears of uh… you should take a shower before someone sees you.”

“I know,” Ramsay giggled.

When he wasn’t grimacing in pleasure, pain, or a mix of both, Theon’s hazy stare stayed affixed to Ramsay’s ice gray eyes.

“Good boy,” Ramsay whispered. “Take it for me. That’s my good boy.”

“Oh, sick!” Everything that had withered in Skinner earlier returned three fold when he saw the source of the blood on Theon’s arm. “Guess he’s one of us now!”

“He’s **mine** ,” Ramsay correctly sharply. _“Exclusively._ I need every motherfucker in here to get that!"

"Of course." Skinner remembered to look away. "I'll get you more gauze and shit when you're, uh, ready."

"Theon?”

_“Please, slow down, please.”_

“Calm me down then. You made me so upset, baby. You know I have to hurt you when you upset me."

"I'm sorry."

"Who owns you?”

“You. You do.”

Ramsay calmed his painful pace. “Say it.”

“You own me, Ramsay. I’m yours.” Theon could feel Ramsay’s cock jump and thicken inside him. His head rolled to one side on the cool floor.

“Look at me, and say it nicer.”

But Theon had lost his breath and a heartbeat. “Oh, god! Get it off!”

“Shh, don’t be so loud,” Ramsay purred into his ear. In truth, Theon didn’t need to be silenced. He was shocked by deep terror into a blank numbness, staring at the swastika carved into his arm. "That's right, baby," Ramsay whispered low enough so Skinner couldn't hear. _"Who the fuck would help you now?"_

 


	20. Coagulate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet Theon.

Salvation Army smelled faintly of cigarettes, but mostly like laundry detergent and for some reason, that make it feel like a home Theon was welcome in. It was a place where he felt people didn’t judge him and would even help him out, or at least leave him alone.

“I can’t find anything,” Theon sighed. He pulled out a velvet shirt the color of asparagus with a wide floppy collar and smirked. “Here, this matches your shitty face.”

Robb’s deep blue eyes crinkled at the corners and his voice boomed throughout the small thrift shop. He could laugh because he knew he was handsome and wonderful, loved and perfect. Still, only _Theon_ made him laugh like that.

“These are cool, right?”

“Robb.”

Robb frowned but he still looked sunny. “What?”

“How could you-”

“I’m not insulting you.”

“-insult me like that. What the fuck is with that stitching?”

“Right, the lines…”

“Thick WHITE  seams? What even is that?! For me?”

Robb tilted his head at the jeans he suggested. “Huh.”

“Useless." "Useless,” Robb mocked as Theon said it.

Theon smiled.

Robb put the jeans back. “When are you taking me?”

“Look at this, Robb. You should have a leather jacket. Robb! It’s Fossil!”

“That’s cool. I’ll buy you a real one if you take me.”

Theon gritted his teeth as he grinned. “Let’s go to a club instead. There’s this girl-”

“You’re not _actually_ my older brother. You’re not even that much older than me.”

“That’s not what this- that is not what I... mean. Robb! Remember this stupid movie?! We used to know every line. This could’ve been one of our shirts.”

“I want you to take me _tonight.”_ Robb's face took on that cold, unyielding look Theon had largely given up on exhausting himself against. “You can do that for me, can’t you?”

“Of course I can.” Theon slammed hangers to one side so he could flip through the rack.

“You really know the Krakens?” Robb whispered, leaning over the row of racks between them.

“No, shit, dumbass! I’m a fucking _Greyjoy_ what the fuck do you THINK that means?!”

“It’s just my last chance before boot camp.”

“I said I would! I’ll get you dope, parties, and pussy before you get your head blown off in some godforsaken desert.”

“Alaska.”

“You may  _start_ in Alaska,” Theon muttered bitterly.

 

But he didn’t.

The Air Force delayed Robb’s enlistment another three months because he was reassigned to a new squadron. He didn’t know where he’d be assigned after basic or even where his officer training would be.

Then Robb’s father died unexpectedly. Theon knew he was actually Robb’s brother then because it sure as fuck felt like they had both lost a father. In his casket, Ned still looked so calm and unbelievably strong. Theon found himself thinking, _get up. Just get up,_ over and over again at the funeral.

 

Robb opened the bedroom door slowly when he saw not even the tv was on. “Theon?”

“Yeah?”

He swayed in the doorframe, which he seemed to fill now. “I don’t want this anymore.”

Theon sat up and clicked the lamp beside his bed on. “Are you drunk, man?”

Robb nodded and sniffled.

“Ok. That’s ok. I’m sorry, Robb. I’m just fucking sorry about your dad. You wanna…” _Sleep here? ‘Crash here’ - that’s more casual. Should I offer to leave? What if he thinks I don’t want to deal with this? What if he knows I want to… what if he wants to? No, he’s fucked up._ Theon’s racing thoughts came to a halt when Robb dumped himself on Theon’s bed. “I’ll go grab your comforter, ok? I’ll put on a movie for us and, um, get you some water.”

“How do you deal with this?” Robb slurred before Theon could get out of bed.

“With what?”

“This hurting all the time. What do you do?”

Theon almost said, ‘I don’t hurt all the time’ but couldn’t bring himself to grin and lie. He very nearly said, ‘How did you know?’ but he was too afraid to hear. So, he swallowed and rolled out of bed. “I’ll be right back. I’m here, ok? I’ll be right here, Robb.”

 

Two months later, the partying had gotten out of hand. Robb’s family was falling apart, he had no school or work to keep him busy, and he didn’t know how to mourn. He just wanted to drink and find something to fight about, which Theon could understand.

Still, when his official enlistment date was just a few weeks away, they both knew this shit had to stop. Robb was out of shape. He’d lost some weight and looked like shit; almost like Theon, actually.  

 

“We’ll start working out tomorrow,” Robb said from the passenger’s side. Neon light flashed against his profile.

“Yeah.”

Robb kept scratching the hair on his arm. “What?”

Theon rubbed his head. “Nothing.” He chewed his lip. “I don’t want you to move away but I’m not _quite_ enough of an asshole to fuck everything up for you either.”

“One last time before I quit.”

 

“You’re quitting?” Maron grinned. “Better live it up tonight then.”

“Quitting?” Rodrik looked like he smelled something foul. He slunk to one side and rested his elbow on the kitchen counter. “Don’t you want to get high one last time? You pussy fucks really think your nose can even stop the itching anymore?”

Maron looked at Robb with Theon’s smile, but a true Kraken’s cold seafoam green eyes.

 

“What…” Theon sat up on his elbows in Maron’s couch, stoned and ready to pass out as soon as his Mariokart race against two girls and some dude finished. There were always strangers at his brother’s apartment and, most often, Theon was one of them. “When, uh, Robb… we have to talk… you uh… we can talk.”

Robb messed Theon’s hair as he passed by. “Yeah. I’ll play the winner.”

Theon woke up some time later. It felt like mere minutes had passed. He crept passed people strewn out on furniture and tiptoed over people laying on the floor to follow the sound that woke him; something in between a gasp and a hiccup.

He saw Maron first. But it wasn’t Maron who made the sound. _It wasn’t Maron. He was already dead._ He was already dead, but Theon thought CPR could save him. _He was already dead._ Theon screamed for Rodrik who stumbled his way over.

“CALL 911!”

“Shit!” Rodrik sprinted to gather his stash and money then ran from his own brothers and out of his own apartment as if the cops were beating down the door already.

"Robb! HELP!” _Robb was downstairs. Alone. Dying alone. Where was I? With the corpse of the man who helped kill him._

 

"Remove the sunglasses," the DA said pointedly.

"Sure thing." Theon slid them off. Rodrik almost looked sorry for him. Or maybe Theon just imagined that.

"Are you certain?" his lawyer whispered one last time.

"Yep."

Rodrik grinned. 

"Where do I sign?"

"It's a little more complicated than that," The DA said from across the table. 

"I just want to cooperate."

"But not take the plea bargain?" The DA sneered.

"I have nothing to say about my brother or father so I can't take the deal." Theon put the sunglasses back on and stared at the cherrywood desk until Rodrik said it was time to go.

It was fine. Theon took Robb to the precipice. Why should _he_ be the one to come back? Why should he have a life when Robb's was gone? 

 

***

 

“Hey.” Satin stood at Ramsay’s cell door.

Theon looked down from the top bunk without responding.

Satin went to Ramsay’s toilet then approached Theon to offer neatly folded toilet paper. When Theon didn’t move, Satin stepped up on Ramsay’s bunk and patted the tears around his brilliant green eyes.

“You shouldn’t be in here.”

“It's alright. He sent me.”

“Why?”

“He said you don’t like to come down without him. Can I come up?

 

Satin sat across from Theon, on his cot. Theon remained wrapped, from the neck down, in his thin blanket.

Satin opened a purple Crown Royal bag. “I haven’t seen you for a long time.” He pulled out tubes of lipstick.

Theon slumped against the wall and put a finger on the flower he’d carved.

“Come here,” Satin coaxed simply and kindly.

Theon swallowed. “He sent you here to... ?”

Satin nodded. “Does he bite you?”

Theon was unable to answer or even look away from the wall.

“I only mean, if he ever breaks the skin, you should tell nurse Targaryen. He’ll help you out.” Satin pulled Theon back to face him.

“I don’t want help.”

“Right.” Satin nodded as if he’d just remembered. “No therapy, or classes, no lawyer, no defense. Do you really still think you deserve to be here? Even now?”

“I should be dead.” He could see Robb as clearly as anything. _He has to be asleep._ “Just like my little brother.”

“Why?”

Theon finally looked Satin in the eye. “Why not?”

Satin furrowed his gently sloping brow. “Because you’re a miracle. Everyone is, every moment we’re alive, for the brief time we are. You don’t have to justify living. No one does.”

“But I killed him.”

Satin shrugged and picked a coral shade. “Did you?”

Theon watched Satin in silence, allowed his chin to be held, and his lips caressed by a little brush.

 

“Ok, now give me your hand.”

Theon complied and his blanket slipped away from his arm. Satin didn’t look at the scabbing scar, or make a point of looking away. Still, Theon felt compelled to say, “I didn’t do that.”

Satin shrugged again, with both shoulders now. “I don’t care.”

“But... I really didn’t.”

Satin’s eyes darted up from Theon’s nails and back again. “We all do what we have to.”

“What did you have to do?”

Satin’s smirk lacked any malice or joy.

"Did he bite _you?_ It just seems like a pretty fucking specific question to ask. What did you 'have to do' with Ramsay?"

“It wasn't personal.”

“I don’t care!” Theon tried not to snap.

“You look really hot,” Satin commented, to change the subject. He blew softly on Theon's wet nails.

Theon closed this eyes and leaned into the wall. He didn’t say anything else, even when Satin left.

Even when Ramsay came back.


	21. Flay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I cleaned up the last chapter... if anyone actually made it this far. (YOU get a star!)
> 
> This chapter sees two reunions, which end quite differently from one another.

“So? She’s really doing well?” Davos flipped through the photos again and laughed.

“She’s fine.” Stannis smirked just a little bit. “I’ll take her to a doctor for a hiccup now. I swear it.”

“That’s wonderful! I’m so happy! What do your wife and her guru think about all this? No, nevermind. I don’t care.” Davos grinned and laughed again.

“Thank you.” Stannis glanced at the scum of the earth talking around them. This room was far too small; vile ears too close for comfort.

The little folding table wobbled when Davos leaned forward upon it. “What? What is it?”

“Well, seeing as how… finances are often disclosed publicly as a prerequisite to seeking office, as you know. The help you offered… Shireen is better, of course, but it also helped me obtain my position… keeping private matters private.”

 _No one needs to know how bat shit crazy your wife her Rasputina really are,_ Davos thought to himself while wearing a blank smile. “Not sure what you mean, Stannis.”

The governor rolled his eyes disdainfully. “Don’t use my in name here. Thankfully, most of these degenerates don’t seem to recognize me but-” he stopped when Davos snorted. Stannis frowned. “Listen, Seaworth, I wanted to tell you myself; your sentence is being commuted.”

Davos shook his head. “I-I’m sorry?”

“You had a son with you, didn’t you? When we first met? I think you’ve both served your time but my lawyers can’t find him anywhere.”

“Matthos.” Davos smiled fondly and swallowed. His face started to grow pink around the cheeks, which Stannis found uncomfortable. “He didn’t make it… in prison.”

“I’m sorry,” Stannis offered, quite prudently.

“I should never have brought him.”

“We all have our regrets,” Stannis said softly. “If I could be of service in some other way-”

“Yes!” Davos burst loud enough for people to stop their own reunions a moment. “You could.”

 

Ramsay waltzed in the cell humming a happy tune. “Guess what? I’m going to take you to the chow hall for dinner tonight. I have a surprise for you.”

Theon traced the flower he’d carved into the wall with a glittery blue fingernail.

“I want to see my present.” Ramsay stepped up on his bunk and poked at Theon’s back. “Get down here! Let me see. Lemme see!” But Ramsay couldn’t wait so he climbed up and onto Theon who didn’t resist when he was flipped over. “Oh, baby! I fucking love it! Why are you sad? You look so fucking hot for me.”

Theon lifted his ass the moment Ramsay touched the elastic waistband on his boxers. _“Only_ for you… right?”

It made Ramsay’s heart sing. He was so close to perfect now. “Is that why you look sad?” Ramsay couldn’t stop smiling, even as he sucked and bit at his treasure’s long neck. “Did you think I sent Satin in here so you could work with him? Don’t be fucking ridiculous. Do you know what I would do you? What I would do to anyone who touches you?”

Theon grimaced and whimpered.

Ramsay tossed an empty packet to the floor then used his slick hand to ease Theon’s discomfort, and help keep his attention.

“What if someone…”

“Don’t worry about it. Just keep your voice down. Were you scared, baby?” Ramsay held Theon’s jaw with both hands and smiled too widely, a glee making his eyes dance.

With some effort, Theon felt he could read Ramsay and tried to answer accordingly. “Yes. I don’t want to that any-again, ever again- only you.” His stomach lept. “Please? I’ll do… anything.” He had to force the words out, but wasn’t certain he was only lying. At least Theon could console himself that the was the best way to sell a lie is by believing it.

“You are perfect,” Ramsay whispered in his ear. “I _knew_ you were. I knew from that first fucking photo. And now I have you.” Ramsay seemed to talk faster and faster as he pumped into Theon. “My pretty boy.”

Theon writhed, gritting his teeth to bite back a moan.

“Such a good boy. You take it for me whenever I need you to. Show me how good you are.”

Theon twisted and whimpered until Ramsay used his serpent sweet words to coax him into coming.

 

“I got us popcorn!” Ramsay panted against Theon’s cheekbone. His train had finally stopped barreling off the rails, but he still seemed to racing around the track. “Good boy.” Ramsay kissed Theon’s forehead and giggled at the awe-filled stare it won him. “Come on! Get up! It’s a very special day. Get up! Get up! I’m going to shower you and then we’ll go eat.”

 

Theon only left the cell with Ramsay’s arm slung around him now. He was even starting to like it.

Damon met up with them and gave Theon a pat on the head. “Hey, look who got to out! That’s nice.”

Even yesterday Theon probably would have scanned the chow hall in fear that someone heard that. Today, however, it just didn’t mean anything. Nothing really mattered except Ramsay’s mood in relation to him.

“Ooo, popcorn! ALYN! Ramsay got us popcorn!”

Alyn flicked Damon off from the long lunch line.

“I STILL WANT FOOD, ALYN!” Ramsay consoled his friend with a giggle.

“So what’s this about? Huh? A show?” Damon shoved a wandering junkie out of Ramsay’s way. The whole table shook when he dropped into his seat.

Theon stole a fast glance to see if Ramsay saw how Damon was looking at him.

“You have a little, uh…” Damon pointed to his own mouth and laughed. Baratheon started cackling.

“Oh, shit.” Theon went to wipe his mouth but Ramsay caught his wrist.

 _“Look who came out to play,”_ he whispered in Theon’s ear, then slid a styrofoam bowl of popcorn in front of Theon and giggled in the same way that always made Theon’s stomach twist.

That sure as fuck had to be The Mountain and Theon instantly understood how he earned the name.

“How-how did you…”

“Who me? I didn’t do anything. I’m just an inmate.”

Skinner sat down at the table and shoved Damon in his sudden excitement. “Oh, gods! Who the fuck let him out?!”

“Hmmm. If it wasn’t the warden,” Ramsay mused happily, “it would have to be that redhead… what is her name, Damon?”

Damon stopped smiling and turned a little red. “Shut up, asshole.”

“Come on. You know! The doctor. That one that went away for awhile. Remember, Damon?”

“Fuck you.”

“You don’t remember her name?I dunno. I’m not good with names. I wasn’t as close to her as you were, though, you fucking rake.” Ramsay giggled and pulled Theon closer. _“It’s your present,”_ he whispered. _“See?”_

Theon did _not_ see. “Gregor?” Before Ramsay cared to clarify, Sandor shot up from his table. The Mountain seemed compelled by the motion to run, like a sprinter hearing the starter pistol. “Oh shit.” Theon pressed into Ramsay just as the giants collided.

The rest of the Aryan table jumped up with most of the chow hall to watch and react, like they were in some kind of fucking sports arena then the sirens went off and the guards were yelling and somehow Sandor’s horrible gurgling then impossibly high pitched screams cut right through it all.

“Oh god! He’s dying!”

Ramsay laughed. “You like it?”

One centimeter at a time, it seemed, Theon slowly turned to face Ramsay. He kept an arm around Theon and tossed popcorn into his mouth, missing every once in awhile; quite amused with the game of it. His face lit up when a horrible stench rolled through and the crowd OOOOOooo-ed.

“Tada!” He winked at Theon and pinched the tip of his nose. “Good surprise, right? I told you not to worry, precious.”

Theon felt himself nodding mechanically. “Thank you.”

He couldn’t see Ramsay’s smile grow even brighter when he tried to hide from everything in his chest, but Theon felt it as clearly as the screams still ringing in his ears.


	22. Chop it Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the kind of ending I always wanted to give my stupid kraken bb. ^-^
> 
> Hope it makes sense.
> 
> If you actually read this entire beast THANK YOU so much! 
> 
> I'd love to do a sequel sometime. If you liked this at all, I would so appreciate a comment. Even a smiley face. Seriously. It would make my week, even 50 years after this has been posted.

It happened a few weeks later.

 

Theon sat cross-legged on the floor with Ramsay’s feet in his lap. He, Damon, the guy who stole Theon’s cell, Alyn and a new guy named Lil’ Wald were playing poker and talking about football of all fucking things. Theon had shit to say about it, which was fine. They weren’t really his friends. He was nothing like them; just Ramsay’s play thing. So he was massaging Ramsay’s feet and every once in awhile Ramsay would pet his head.

It was crowded in their cell more often than not now and Theon was never alone. He almost believed the things Ramsay liked to whisper to him; that this is who really was and was meant to be, that Ramsay had only shown him so and loved him anyhow.

 

Looking back, Theon would tell himself that he had noticed D Block’s doors opening and thought it was unusual for so late in the day; a cinematic setup to such a pivotal scene in his life. He would even come to confide in Asha, one drunken night, that he murmured, “That’s odd,” before folding.

But, in reality, he wasn’t playing poker. He wasn’t an Aryan, not even a little, not even for an instant. He was only drowning there until he was pulled back to the surface into sweet air.

 

Trant and Hoat showed up at Ramsay’s door. Hoat looked gloomy but Trant was already laughing. “Inmate Theon Greyjoy?” he barked, grinning.

Theon sat up straight. Ramsay used his heels to pull Theon’s legs and side closer to the chair he was sitting on.

Theon glanced at Ramsay then the guards. “Yes?”

“Come with me.”

“For what?” Ramsay snapped through a tight smile.

Trant obviously found Ramsay’s irritation funny. “Out processing.”

“Wha- wait.” Ramsay shook his head slowly. “What the holy fuck is this? What is this?”

Trant laughed in Ramsay’s face and waved Theon down. “Let’s go. Do you have any dress outs?”

“Oh shit,” Theon gasped. “I don’t understand. Ramsay? What’s happening?”

 _“Go lay down, Theon._ He’s not going any-fucking-where until I see the Warden.”

“Not your choice, or his, or even Warden Qyburn's.”

“It’s just a mistake, Ramsay,” Damon decided. “Or they’re fucking with you.”

“Why would they do that, Damon?” he asked Officer Trant.

“We aren’t fucking with you, but we will fuck you up if you don’t let him go. Gather your belongings, Greyjoy. Let’s go. Bus leaves at half past six.”

“Bus? I’m being transferred? WHY?!” He looked at his arm, thought of his back and…

“You’re done.” Hoat marched in and yanked Theon’s arm.

Trant followed Hoat’s lead and took the additional step of brandishing his taser. “Disperse! Which one of you wants Ad Seg? Huh? Or do you want to try out daddy’s drugs, Bolton? Have you seen what your old man’s company did to Psych? Wanna see up close?”

“You can’t take him. He’s MINE! Where the fuck is Qyburn?”

Hoat pulled Theon along like a rag doll. “Ramsay? I don’t want to go…”

“Shut up your fucking mouth, inmate.”

“Is it the chair?”

Ramsay was screaming in the background, there was commotion behind them.

“ _Done_ as in your sentence is done, you stupid cocksucker. By the fucking gods, I hope you are good at taking cock up the ass because you sure can’t use your other end for fuck all else.”

Ramsay screamed Theon’s name and demanded him back. “DON’T YOU FUCKING TOUCH ANYBODY! I’LL RIP THEIR FUCKING SKIN OFF AND FUCK THE HOLE I STAB THROUGH THEIR STOMACH! DON’T FORGET WHO THE FUCK YOU ARE!”

 _I’m Theon._ A smile slowly broke out in small cracks on his pale face. _I’m free._

“COME BACK HERE!” Ramsay was trying to shove past Trant and finally slammed him into the wall by his fat head.

Trant teetered then jumped up to taser Ramsay. Immediately, Alyn was on Trant in a flurry of blurred motion which quickly became sickening twacks, thuds, and squooshes.

Ramsay woke up from the fog of pain he was lost in when Damon pulled a bloody Alyn off in a bear hug. “Gods… Alyn. Alyn. Alyn, shit. No, no, no.”

“I’m sorry,” Alyn panted.

The walkie talkie on Trant’s shoulder sputtered static then a fuzzy voice asked something.

“Damn it, Alyn,” Damon moaned. “You fucking killed him.”

“I’m sorry,” Alyn repeated. “He was hurting you,” he explained to Ramsay.

D Blocks doors opened down below and heavy boots came running in.

Ramsay sank to the floor. “Alyn, listen-”

Alyn smiled. “I know you came here to get me but I’m ok. You have your boy out there now.”

Damon kept holding Alyn even though he wasn’t fighting until the guards came. Ramsay sat there, frozen for the first time in his life, when the guards dragged Alyn away, but Alyn was still smiling. Ramsay let Alyn see his pain and vulnerability and Alyn let Ramsay see his hope. What else was there to say?

 

It took at least two hours for Theon to sign some papers, collect his things, and change at last. Most of that time was spent waiting around, terrified that something would change; they would realize their mistake, it was a test of Ramsay’s and he failed it, it was one of the Warden’s experiments, or just one of Trant’s awful fucking jokes.

But then the first set of doors opened, and the second. He walked down a long fenced in walkway and told the last guard his name.

Then the last doors rolled open and he stepped outside onto a dirty sidewalk, into the wide open chaotic world.

He jumped when the door shut behind him. Theon took a few cautious steps in his old converse sneakers. They still fit! Why wouldn’t they, really? But they did and they were his and even had the star Robb drew on the toe in permanent marker.

“Hey!”

Theon jumped and spun. He clutched at his hoodie, which Trant had stolen that horrible night. He didn’t think he would ever get it back and now it covered him like an unmarked second skin.

It was only Seaworth, of all fucking people! Theon could hardly be happier. “Hey!” He yelled back. “Look at you! You look like, uh, a Sea Captain.”

“Come sit down. We have a while yet. Do you know where you’re going, son?”

“No fucking idea!” Theon laughed. He touched his wallet, _HIS WALLET,_ just to remind himself it was really there and sat down. “It doesn’t matter. I just… they’re really letting us go?”

“Yep. It’s time. Don’t you think?”

“Huh.” Theon sat on the bench beside Seaworth and watched the sunset over the barren winter fields spread out before them. “Yeah. Yeah, I think you’re right.”

“Listen, Theon, I wanted to tell you… it was a mistake,” Davos cleared his throat. “That is, when I sent the knife to you.”

“What?” Theon studied Seaworth, confused by his confession.

“I didn’t know… that… well, that that’s what you were going to use it for."

“Of course you didn’t. I didn’t tell Wex why I wanted it. How would you know?”

“Because you were in solitary and you were a very troubled young man. I was thinking… pft, somehow that you needed it to push the nightshade. That someone was ‘in our way’. I don’t know. I just wanted to help this little girl-”

“I know.”

“After I lost Matthos-” Davos couldn’t finish and struggled to maintain his composure, the way he had for years now.

“I understand. Hey, that wasn’t you. That was me! It was my choice. Only mine. Maybe I was sick but, that wasn’t your fault either.”

Davos nodded.

“Are you going to see her?”

“Shireen.” Davos grinned. “Yep. But what about you? The bus will only take you as far south as King’s Landing. How will you get to Pyke?”

 _Pyke is the first place he’d look._ Theon grinned back. “I know someone staying in King’s Landing.” A black limo came zooming smoothly up the empty dirt road in front of them. “Well, fuck me, Seaworth! Your little friend have some fancy fucking connections or what?”

He stood to leave and kissed the top of Theon’s head. “Stay safe, son.”

“Davos?” Theon didn’t try to follow but curled up on the bench. “How- do you know why my sentence was commuted?”

Davos stopped to wink then slid down into the car and was taken away.

 

Later that night, an exhausted and ecstatic Theon was arguing with a grumpy doorman. “Just tell him I’m here!”

“You can call and ask to be-”

Theon slid around the man and poked the buzzer over and over until the door opened behind an ornate gate made of winding, weaving stems and flowers.

“Greyjoy?”

“Hey! Look, alright, this isn’t as crazy at it seems. I promise. Do you, uh, wanna get a drink?”

Loras quirked his pretty head and smirked. “I don’t like going out anymore.” He hit a button and a metal flower just like the ones Theon had drawn a hundred times over, rolled past to let him through. “Come on. It’s freezing in this awful city.”

“Really? I can come in?”

“You’re letting all the heat out.”

Theon hurried inside. “Thanks!”

“You’re going to have to work.”

“Yeah! Of course! I can-”  
“I want you to help my sister. We need to strengthen our alliances.”

“Not…” Theon stopped in Loras’ gorgeous dimly lit echoing hallway and lowered his voice. “Not drugs, right? I can’t. I don’t do-”

“Of course not!” Loras snapped. “And of course you aren’t! No, no, its politics! So… it’s not _as_ bad… usually. Are you familiar with lobbying?”

“Fuck yes I am! That’s basically what I did in prison!”

“Right, with scarier people than the gods damned Lannisters. Oh, you must want food and a shower.”

Theon slammed into Loras’ chest and wrapped his arms tightly around him.

Loras hadn’t smiled since he left Newt Firell, but he did now and supposed he’d have to get used to the feeling.


End file.
